


Tumblr Ask Box Prompts - Jonsa Version

by sailorshadzter



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, jon x sansa - Freeform, jonsa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-01-27 02:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 140
Words: 141,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21384424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorshadzter/pseuds/sailorshadzter
Summary: in here you will find countless drabbles and oneshots based on ask box prompts on tumblr! there will be a mix of prompt types: original ideas from the asker / prompt memes and lists. mature content inside.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 96
Kudos: 240





	1. 2am and I'm cursing your name.

In the darkness of her rooms, she cannot believe she's been so stupid. 

She paces the floor, nightgown trailing across the rushes with every step she takes. Red hair falls down her back in a tangle of braids, half falling free from their plaits. Why him... Why her... She thinks these same words over and over again, unable to help but wonder if this is her punishment for falling in love with a man she shared a father with. Jon was her half brother and yet she could not help but to love him in a way one would love a husband, a lover. She knows she'd not be alive right then and there if it weren't for him. And once... She had dared to believe he felt the same for her.

But now he's returned to Winterfell with a beautiful, but powerful young queen. She cannot blame him for forgetting her- Daenerys Targaryen is such a beauty that even the most hardened of men can't help but to spare her a second or even third glance. Where Sansa is tall, Daenerys is small. She is soft and rounded edges, with silvery hair she wears in the most elaborate of braids, whereas Sansa feels sharp like steel. The dragon queen is other wordly, ethereal, with a glow about her that even Sansa cannot deny. She only wishes she weren't such a spoiled, arrogant woman. But, then again, Sansa cannot trust her own feelings for the mother of dragons, not with the taint of jealousy rushing through her veins. For all she knew, Daenerys was a sweet tempered and her compliment that morning of her own beauty was from the heart, not a calculated comment to win the Lady of Winterfell's favor. 

"Damn you, Jon," she curses his name as she sinks into the window seat, tipping her forehead against the cold, frosted glass. He's only just returned that day and she hates feeling angry, she hate feeling hurt. She had thought to welcome him back with a smile but then seeing him with Daenerys like that... Riding into Winterfell like a king consort... It had left her feeling cold as ice. "And damn her too," she whispers miserably, a tear tracing the curve of her cheek as she closes her eyes, pain welling up within her heart, threatening to spill over. 

It's true, this must be her punishment for falling in love with her own brother and for believing that he could ever love her too. They were not like the Targaryens, they were not like the Lannisters... They were Starks and they did not fall in love with family. No matter how close they became, no matter what they endured together... They did not fall in love with family. Tears continued to trail her cheeks as she cries, curling into herself there in the window seat, wondering just what it was about her that kept her from finding a true and pure sort of love. 

"Sansa?" 

Her name is a whisper in the dark but it cuts her like a knife. She gasps, turning around where she sits to face him; Jon looks as miserable as she does, a thought that brings her an ounce of comfort, of relief. He's come so quietly into her rooms she'd never even heard the door when it opened. His white shirt is rumpled, as are the old pair of breeches he wears, his dark curls wild around his face. "Sansa..." Her name is soft on his lips as she rises up from the window, her sapphire eyes never leaving his solemn Stark colored ones. 

She wants to be angry, she wants to slam him with her fists... But instead, she comes to stand before him, head tilted ever so slightly. Jon reaches for her at once, his thumb gently rubbing any trace of her tears away, his lips curving with the smallest of smiles. She thinks back to every other moment when he's come to her like this, as if he had known deep down that she needed him. "I thought you would be with her," she says pointedly, unable to help it, and she can see that her words wound him. 

"I've missed you, Sansa." His voice is quiet, pained, his hand still tenderly cupping her cheek into his palm. "I swear I've not brought her here to hurt you," he goes on and Sansa blinks, staring at his with her wide, sapphire gaze. "I've brought her here to protect you. To protect the North." 

"Did sleeping with her offer me extra protection?" The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. "Did you go to her bed before or after you gave her your crown?" She curses herself silently, hating herself for speaking so harshly to him. But she wants him to feel even just a little of the pain that she feels. Sansa can't even say for certain she knows that Jon slept with the dragon queen, but something tells her she doesn't have to ask to know the truth. 

His hand falls from her face and her skin feels cold without his touch. "You don't understand." He says so softly that she thinks for a moment she's only imagined him saying them. "You don't understand," he says again, as if saying them twice will make her suddenly understand his motives. 

"You're right, I don't." Sansa sucks in a breath, her stomach turning, heart beat increasing. "But I do understand you've chosen her over me... Over the North." She turns her back to him then, crossing the room to return to the window where she'd been when Jon first came into her room. There is several beats of silence before she hears his footsteps and the sound of the door opening then closing. 

When she's alone again, she sinks back to the seat and curses his name once again. 


	2. Shae's discovery & Jon's freedom.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: sansa learns about shae's fate & threatens tyrion within an inch of his dumb life.

The knock on her door pulls her attention from the scroll of parchment in her hands. "Come in," the young queen calls and when the door opens, it is Lord Royce. He approaches her where she sits at her desk and offers her a bow. "You have news?" She asks, to which he nods, though his face does not change its expression. Somehow, she already knows what he's going to say before he even says it. 

"There was a guard in King's Landing... A guard that Tyrion Lannister paid him to help him dispose of the body." He bows his head, eyes closing as he lets out the breath he's been holding. "I am sorry, my queen." He murmurs when he opens his eyes, taking in the sight of her face. She's gone white, but merely purses her lips together and nods. "The guard said it was Tyrion that took her life." 

"And her body?" The queen asks, her voice sharp as steel, her gaze even sharper.

"Buried somewhere in the gardens." Lord Royce replies, watching as the queen sits back in her chair, hands twisting together on her lap beneath her desk. "The guard said that Tyrion visits it regularly, though he tells anyone who asks it's merely a spot he enjoys that's away from everyone." The queen chokes on a laugh and she rolls her sapphire colored eyes, giving her head the smallest of shakes, as if she cannot believe the words he's just said. 

"Thank you, Lord Royce." She says by way of dismissal- but as he turns to go, she calls out to him again. "A moment more, if you don't mind." She holds out a folded parchment that's already been sealed with her sigil in wax. "Send this to Lord Tyrion straight away, if you would." Lord Royce takes the letter from her, noticing a new glint in her eyes he's never seen before. "And this one..." She holds out another letter and this time, her lips curve with a strained sort of smile. "This one to Castle Black." Lord Royce holds her gaze for a single moment before he accepts the letter and tucks it, along with the one for Tyrion, into his doublet. "Thank you, my lord," she says with a truer smile and he nods, smiling for her before he bows and backs out of the room.

When she's alone, the smile fades, but Sansa finds she can cry no tears. 

It feels as though all of her tears have been spent- from her days back in King's Landing until now, she's cried so much that surely there can be no more tears that fall from her eyes. Besides, she's cried for this loss already. Since the day she had left King's Landing, she has missed Shae dearly. She's thought of her often and had hoped there would come a day when they would meet again. But, such a thought had been the naive hope of a girl long since gone. But... To learn what she's learned this day... That Tyrion himself had taken the life of the only friend she'd had in King's Landing. 

She thinks of the letters she's sent and she smiles. He would know her fury, that much she's certan of. And the other letter... She can only hope it will be answered. 

[ x x x ]

"A letter, my lord." 

Tyrion looks up from where he sits at his desk, piles of papers littering the top. "Thank you," he says as he takes the letter from the young man, waiting until the door has closed behind him to look it over. On the front is his name in neat, slanted handwriting, handwriting of a well educated woman, if he had to guess. And sure enough when he turns it over, it is the Stark sigil pressed into the sealing wax. 

For a moment, his heart wavers, as if he knows opening this letter will change everything. But he forces his fingers to move, breaking the seal on the Queen in the North's letter that has so suddenly arrived for him. And then... He reads. 

_Tyrion,_

  
_ For the last several months, I have sought answers in regards to my handmaiden Shae. I know you two were lovers once and now I know you killed her with your bare hands. You need not write me to protest your innocence, the guard you once paid off is now in my confidence. It seems that I have friends even there, you would do well to remember that. _   


_If it were not my brother who is King, I would crush you with an army of my own making. I would take you as my prisoner and I would ensure you spend the last of your days in a jail cell where you so truly belong. But I honor my brother and he speaks highly of you, even if I cannot say why. I once did, too, though you have proven your hand to me time and time again. _   


_As you are not a subject of my own, there is little I can do, but I can do this: if you ever step foot into the North, you will be punished. If I catch even a scent of Lannister in my kingdom, you will find yourself at the mercy of the North, and you will not find your way out of it. If I decide to be merciful, I will send you to the wall to join the Night's Watch with the other criminals, as it is the only place among the living that you deserve to be. _   


_But, as you will stay there in King's Landing and continue to go unpunished for your crime against Shae and all others, this will serve as atonement enough. By the time you read this letter, Jon Snow will be freed _ _from the Night's Watch and in my keep. He was undeservedly punished and if you will not be punished, then neither shall he. _

_ I again warn you on setting foot into the North, for I am not a queen of mercy when it comes to punishing those who deserve it most. _

When he finishes her letter, his heart is thumping wildly in his chest.

He thinks of Shae often, but avoids thinking of what he did to her. For a moment, he imagines her as she had been that day- her eyes wide and her nails clawing, fighting with every bit of strength she had to survive. And she almost had. Almost. 

He doesn't regret what he did, he only regrets that it had to be her. He had loved her, after all. Truthfully, he's surprised that Sansa has learned the truth, especially so many years later. He had assumed she had thought little of Shae, as she had most everyone in King's Landing, not that he could blame her. Yet again, he had under estimated Sansa Stark, as most everybody around her had done all of her life. Now, he knows, and he knows better than to ever try and find out if she's good on her promise of his punishment. 

And so he supposes he will have to live with Jon Snow's release and live without ever returning North. 

[ x x x ]

Sitting upon her throne, Sansa looks out at the empty room around her, fingers tightening their hold on the arm rests as the double doors across the room open. It is Jon standing there, his dark hair wilder than ever, his face hidden behind months worth of scruff. But it is Jon... It's Jon. He steps into the room and the door closes behind him as he walks along the aisle, towards where she sits, spine straight, knuckles white. 

He walks until he's right there, just barely out of her reach. "My queen," he murmurs before he drops to a knee before her, Longclaw unsheathed and offered to her in a gesture of fealty. For the first time in his life, those two words, _my queen_, mean something to him. They mean everything to him. "I am yours, if you would have me." When he raises his eyes to meet hers, he's blindsided by the brilliance of her smile. 

"You have always been mine." She replies, ignoring the warmth that gathers in her cheeks, ignoring the wild thumping of her heart in her chest. There has never been anyone else, nor would there ever be. "Welcome home." 

When Jon rises to his feet, it's to open his arms to her, and he knows he's home. 

Truly, home. 


	3. After the battle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: jon tells sansa the truth down in the crypts after the battle against the night king.

When he finds her, she's standing in the crypts before the destroyed statue of Ned Stark.

For a moment, he thinks on his choice to interrupt her, but as if she's attuned to his very presence, she turns and sees him a moment later. Her face softens with a smile, though it's a sad one, and Jon's heart aches. He approaches her and for a moment, neither of them speak; her sapphire eyes are red rimmed and swollen, telltale signs of the tears she'd been shedding before his arrival. "Sansa... I..." He begins but finds now that he's there in front of her, he's lost the words he wanted to say. 

"I'll rebuild them, of course," she says, shaking him free from his thoughts. She's turned back to face the crumbled remains of her father's statue, tears shining in her eyes. It's been hours and she still can't believe it's all over. That the battle had been won... And that Jon had come back to her alive. Her time below in these very crypts, though frightening, had been long forgotten when she had seen the injuries and casualties of the battle. She sucks in a breath, closing her eyes against the pain. A tear slips free and traces the curve of her cheek, disappearing when it drips down onto the front of her dark dress. "Theon will have one as well," she opens her eyes, doing her best to force away the sorrow in her heart and voice. She's not doing so well. 

"He deserves it," Jon says softly, turning slightly as she looks to him. She's crumpling then and Jon catches her as she begins to cry, gut wrenching sobs that steal the very breath from her lungs. He holds her as long as she needs, softly murmuring into her ear, one hand pressed firmly into the small of her back, the other stroking her long red hair. It could have been seconds or even months, he lost track of the time as they stood there clinging to one another. All he knew was even the Gods themselves could not pull her from him. 

It's not until she begins to pull back that Jon loosens his hold on her, the hand that once stroked her hair now brushes away the last of her tears. "I'm sorry," she breathes with a shake of her head, as if she's embarrassed by her emotional outburst. "There's so much else to worry about, it's not me you should be-"

He kisses her- he can't stop himself. 

She stiffens in his arms for a split second- caught off guard by his actions, certainly- but then she's kissing him back. Jon hopes this kiss says everything he hadn't been able to say to her yet. A moment later, he pulls back, trailing the tips of his fingers across her jawline, down to trace the outline of her rosy lips, still yet tingling from his kiss. "Jon..." His name is a whisper on those same lips and it's all he can do not to kiss her again. 

"Tyrion told me you were beyond brave down here," Jon says as he leans his forehead against hers, breathing her in as she sinks into him. She remembers the kiss to her hand, the way Tyrion's eyes had looked at her behind this very statue, where they had decided to fight rather than to die. He feels the familiar pang of jealousy thinking of another man touching her, being beside her in the moment that very well could have been their last one. But she's clutching to his fur cloak and he's forgetting his jealousy as he leans into her grip. "I'm sorry I put you into danger down here," he whispers against the crown of her hair, her braids slipping free from their pins. "I thought you would be safe here and yet I put you into more danger than-"

She's the one to silence him with a kiss this time, her lips soft and her hands warm as they slide into his wild curls. The kiss is long and passionate, perhaps full of everything they've never said to each other. When she pulls back, her eyes are shining and her cheeks are red, but she smiles as bright as the sun itself. "I love you, you know," he says before he can lose the nerve. "I know it's wrong but Sansa, I love you." This is the girl he once called sister. This is the woman who he went to war for. The woman he loved with his entire being. And was it so wrong... Really? 

She widens her eyes as he confesses his truth to her and Sansa feels her heart skip a beat. Was this really happening? Was Jon really saying... That he loved her? "And there's something else I need to tell you..." He sucks in a breath, glancing left and right, as if there was someone else to overhear them besides the dead. "My father... Was Rhaegar Targaryen. My mother was Lyanna Stark." His words settle between them and Sansa draws back slightly, her mouth hanging open in her surprise. "I'm not your bastard brother. I'm not your brother at all. I'm... I'm your..."

"Cousin." She finishes for him with a slight shake of her head, as if she cannot believe what she's hearing. But one look at his face and she knows... She understands that its the truth. She can't help but to laugh, again shaking her head. All this time... All the longing between them, the strained, uncertain feelings... None of it mattered because they were not siblings at all, but cousins. She wanted to cry, but this time not from sorrow. 

"When this is all over... Sansa, I want to be with you." His mouth is at her ear, his words warm against her skin. "Everything I've done has been for a reason, I swear it to you. Keep your faith in me." His mouth is on her throat then, brushing soft kisses against her exposed skin. When he pulls his mouth up, its to capture hers yet again, his arms coming around her as tightly as he dared. "I will always protect you," his words are the old vow he'd made to her, back when their enemy had been Ramsay Bolton. Though the enemy had changed, the vow had not. She nods and only then do they step apart, though the heat clings to their bodies, the need to touch the other never really leaving.

He leads her down the corridor and up the stairs, back into the main hall of Winterfell. They part ways only at the hall that leads to her own chambers and despite the fact that any single person could have been watching, he presses a kiss to her forehead. Then he watches as she walks down the hall, pausing only a moment to look back at him with a smile before she disappears through her chamber door. Jon takes a deep breath and smiles before he too walks down the halls until he reaches his own rooms, where inside he can finally lay down to sleep knowing he had done the right thing. 

And when he sleeps, he dreams of her, the best dream he ever had. 


	4. A rumored truth.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: sansa is pregnant at the end of season 8, but doesn't tell jon before he sails for the wall. when rumor reaches the wall about the queen in the north's pregnancy he goes to winterfell to confirm it for himself.

It's three months to the day of her coronation that she steps into the great hall with a belly on display for all the lord's to see. Grown in the last weeks, her belly is proof of the life left behind that night before the fight with the Night King. Her people speak little of the pregnancy- after all that has happened in these last several months, their beloved queen having a child out of wedlock was the last thing for them to become angry over. Their love for their young queen outweighed any other feeling they might have had. Instead, it was claimed their queen's child was sired by the wolves, she herself said it with a smile when asked. There were those who certainly had their thoughts as to who the child belonged to, but none were daring enough to mention it to their queen. Instead, they had accepted her pregnancy as a blessing- so early in her reign and there would be an heir to follow behind her someday. 

The news of the Queen in the North's pregnancy traveled slowly- though winter would begin to melt away, snowstorms often came and went, making travel difficult at times. It's a few weeks later and Jon Snow finds himself listening in on a conversation happening just around the corner from where he stands. The queen, those two words had been enough for him to pause in his rounds, though he remained out of sight of the two men talking. "I saw her for myself," one man is saying and Jon recognizes his voice as a recruit newly arrived from Wintertown just days before. "It's as the rumors said, she's with child." He goes on to say and Jon feels his heart turn over, his stomach sinking to his knees. He sags against the wall, the rest of the conversation lost to him as he mulls over what he's just heard. 

Could it be true? Jon blinks, tipping his head back to stare up into the gray, winter sky. Surely she would have told him such a thing... He recalls when he had last saw her, there on the docks in King's Landing, she had not said a word about a child. Their child. But, he also remembers that Arya and Bran had been there, too, perhaps that had been what kept her from telling him. 

The only thing he can think about now is seeing her. He's sent himself here to the wall, more of a self imposed punishment than anything else. Bran had told him privately that he need not come out here to the wall, but Jon... He had not thought himself worthy to return home, to return to Winterfell. He had lied within those walls, had lied to the family he loved and the woman he adored. In the end, he had killed Daenerys to protect her and their family, but it had not been enough to atone for what had had done up until then. But now... 

Now, he had to see her.

[ x x x ]

"Your grace, there's a rider at the gate." 

Sansa looks up from where she sits behind her solar desk, the letter she was reading set aside as she meets Lord Royce's gaze. "Did they say who it it?" She asks as she leans back in her chair, one hand pressed against the curve of her belly. 

"No, just that he insisted he must see you at once." Lord Royce decides not to mention to his queen who the guard at the gate had said he thought the man to be. "It's quite late, I can attend to him and you may have an audience with him tomorrow." Sansa smiles, a surge of affection for this loyal man rushing through her. He's like a doting grandfather and she finds it quite sweet how protective he's become of her since she had told him of her pregnancy. 

"If he's come to see me so late, it must be important. I shall receive him here. Bring him to me, won't you?" Lord Royce sighs, but knows better than to argue with his queen, and so he nods. "Though, see to it that a room is prepared for him." Sansa goes on before he leaves the room and again, the man nods and steps out into the hall to do as he was bid.

It doesn't take long before she hears the footsteps outside of her solar door; she sits up further in her chair just as the door opens. Lord Royce steps inside and a man clad in a black fur cloak follows after him. For a single moment, the world stands still. Sansa can feel her breath catch in her throat as she rises up from the chair she sat in, sapphire eyes widening as they fall upon the man that comes to stand before her. "Jon..." His name is a whisper on her lips and she must put a hand against the desk to steady herself. 

He can't take his eyes off of her.

She's so beautiful, more beautiful than he even remembers. There's a glow to her that he's never seen before and her body has filled out in the most delicious of ways. His hands long to touch her, his arms long to hold her. Though he never wants to look away, Jon draws his gaze downward to where sure enough, he can see the swell of her growing belly. It's only then that he can't take it any longer and he closes the gap between them in three strides. She falls into his arms as easily as always and Jon kisses every inch of her that he can; she tastes like lemons and tears. He slides his hands into place on either side of her face, forehead tipped against hers, her belly pressing against him. "I can't believe you're here..." She whispers as she draws back, their eyes meeting as Jon's hands slip from her cheeks to instead touch her stomach. "Please don't be angry with me... I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't... Not that day, in front of Arya and Bran... And writing this to you didn't seem right, I wanted to come but they wouldn't let me travel, I just-" he silences her with a kiss, such a kiss that steals the breath from her lungs.

"I could never be angry with you," he breathes when he breaks away, his palm still yet pressed against the swell of her belly. He opens his mouth to speak but is caught off guard by the fluttering feeling against his palm and Sansa let's out a soft laugh at his expense. "The babe?" He asks softly, to which she nods, and something warm rushes through him. He sinks down to his knees, his cheek against her belly, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. "Hello, baby," he whispers before he presses the lightest of kisses to the very spot the babe had touched. 

When he rises back up to his full height a moment later, he takes her into his arms yet again, knowing full well he was never going to let her go again.


	5. Arya discovers Jonsa. Oops.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: arya catches jon and sansa together.

When she's sneaking through the empty corridors of Winterfell, she doesn't expect to stumble across anyone. It's late into the night and she's attempting to find the belongings she once had as a child, packed away into god knows where when those blasted Bolton's took Winterfell over. In truth, she's not even certain they'll even be here, they could have easily been destroyed over the years. Sansa had said she wasn't ready to look for such things- to hold their mother's gowns and touch the items she'd once cherished as a child. All reminders of a life she wished she'd never left behind. 

And so that's left it up to Arya to seek these things out. 

Because of the late hour, she expects to find no one, so she's surprised when she hears what sounds like muffled voices coming from a room that once was servant quarters. Arya pauses before the door, listening intently until she hears what sounds like a pleasured gasp from within. She knows that sound, for had her own lips not uttered such a sound two nights earlier when she was with Gendry? A smirk toys with her lips and she can't help but to push on the door, opening it only a crack so she might peek inside. What she expects to see is an unnamed soldier and a maid, or perhaps someone she knows that she might tease relentlessly over catching them in such an act... It must be good, if they were this far into the castle in a room that had been unused for years now.

What she doesn't expect to see however, is Jon with his breeches around his knees. Arya's eyes widen and she makes to shut the door, for this is not at all what she wants to see her brother doing, not ever. But then the girl he's with makes a sound and her heart skips a beat. She knows that voice. So she puts her eye back to the crack in the door and watches for just another second, as Jon shifts just enough so Arya can catch a glimpse of the red hair that cascades across the bed. It was Sansa. 

Arya shuts the door and steps back, surprise rushing through her. But then she smirks, shaking her head as a chuckle escapes her lips. She should have known, in truth, for even she had seen the way those two had looked at each other. Especially since Jon's true parentage had been revealed. Though some might call it strange, Arya only cared for her family's happiness. If they made one another happy, who was she to speak against them? She only wishes they might have been honest with her rather than risk being caught in such an act together. 

She makes her way further down the corridor, dipping into another room that's packed full of trunks covered in dust. In there she would search for the belongings she had once held, though her thoughts couldn't help but to turn to Jon and Sansa just down the hall from her. In the end, she only hoped for their happiness. Jon certainly didn't seem happy with that damned dragon queen on his arm and Sansa seemed miserable ever since he'd returned home a few weeks before. So long as they were happy, that was what mattered to her. 


	6. There's magic atop the wall.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: sansa goes to the wall to bring jon home.

Last night, he had dreamed of Sansa. 

He had dreamed of her long red hair, how soft it was, how easily it slipped between his fingers. He had dreamed of her eyes, eyes as blue as the the sky when the first dusting of stars began to shine each night. He had dreamed of her voice, just a whisper of silk in the darkness of his rooms that first night they spent together. Of course, he had woken yet again only to feel the stabbing pain that was the loss of her. Every morning he agonized over being away from her, from missing her with his entire being. No matter how he tried, he knew he would never untangle her from him, she was an imprint upon his heart. Not that he wanted to. 

If nothing else, he had the thought of her. If nothing else, he knows that she lives safely in Winterfell, the crowned Queen in the North. If dreams and thoughts are all he has left of her, but she lives, then he must be happy. He must be happy that she's alive and she's well, even if they must live apart. He does not deserve to stand at her side, not after all he's done. And standing up here, he feels the closest to her. He knows she would have loved this cold, lonely place. She would have filled it with her warmth and her light, without even knowing she did it. And she would have thought it magical, standing there at the top of the world, snow all around her. She would stand in awe of the way the sun rose high into the sky, she would stand in amazement at just how far one could see from the very top... 

"My lord?" 

He turns at the sound of the timid voice, only to find that a young boy of maybe twelve stands before him. Jon doesn't recognize him, but he remembers then that four new recruits for the Night's Watch had arrived several days before, just a few weeks into his own return to the black. "I'm not a lord," Jon replies at once, instantly regretting his tone of voice when he sees the boy flinch. "What is it?" He pushes on, gentling his tone and offering the boy a wane smile, a peace offering for his previous rebuke. 

"There was a rider at the gate, a visitor for you." The boy replies, his voice a little stronger now. His black cloak is at least a size too large for his small frame and Jon recalls his own first days at Castle Black, when he had been an angry, lost boy just barely older than this one. A visitor? He wonders to himself, taking a single step forwards, as if he means to head towards the stairs just behind where the boy stands. "They are coming up here," the boy goes on, surprising Jon even more than knowing a visitor has come to call. He can't begin to imagine who it would be until he shifts his gaze towards the stairs and sees for the first time the figure that is climbing them.

Though her cloaks hood is pulled up over her hair, Jon knows it's her. He would know her pace, her build, her, anywhere. Jon glances down at the boy then, who's face suddenly lights up with a grin and he tugs back his cloak to show off the direwolf that's pinned above his heart. Now, Jon begins to understand. 

"Thank you, Cedric," Sansa's vocals are soft, almost lyrical and Jon swears he can feel his heart cease beating. The boy steps just to the side, enough so Sansa can come to stand where he once did, and gives a quick bow before he turns and heads back towards the stairs, leaving his queen alone with this man named Jon Snow. She's smiling as she tugs her hood back, revealing to him that red hair of hers, worn in loose braids just barely pinned together at the back of her head. "Hello, Jon." She greets, her smile widening, her cheeks two blooms of color. 

He can't think, let alone speak.

Jon cannot believe that she stands there in front of him, he doesn't dare to believe it in truth. "S-Sansa..." His frozen lips speak the name that's always on his heart, on his mind, and at once he's falling to his knee before her. "My queen," he says with more feeling than he's felt in weeks. He hears her laugh a moment later and he raises his gaze up to meet hers a moment before she's sinking to the ground in front of him. It's with a slightly shaking hand that Jon reaches for her then, trailing his fingertips across her jaw, leaving fire in their wake. "I can't believe you're here," he finally whispers, thumb swiping across her bottom lip before he cups her face into his palm. "Why are you here?" 

"I bid you to come home two months ago," she says sharply, though her sapphire eyes are soft and shining. "You dared to ignore a command from your queen, so your queen has come to you." She dissolves into giggles and at once, Jon feels something warm rushing through his entire being. "Come home Jon, please," she sobers then, her own hand reaching out to gently touch his cheek. "I can't be without you any longer." 

When she looks at him this way, she's hard to deny. Almost. "I don't deserve to stand beside you." He says with a shake of his head, moving back to stand up. She rises up too, ignoring the hand he offers her, those once soft eyes now sharp and narrowed. "I am a war criminal." 

"You are a hero," she spits back, venom in her tone. "You saved the entire realm from a tyrant queen, it is you that should sit upon the Iron Throne," she goes on, reaching for his hand to draw him back towards her when he tries to turn away. "But your brother has graciously taken it from you, because he knew it was not what you wanted." Their eyes meet and her gaze softens, though her tone is torn between frustration and love. "You helped me win back Winterfell, it is your home as much as it is mine. The North wants their King back." 

Jon smiles, shaking his head. "They already have their queen."

Sansa tightens her grip on his hand a moment before she's speaking yet again. "And their queen wants her king." Jon blinks, understanding her meaning only a moment later. The breath catches in his throat, his heart skipping a beat as their eyes meet. "Please, Jon... Please, come home with me." For the first time, he can see the tears that gather on her lashes, a testament to the whirlwind of emotions rushing through her. 

Standing there, staring into her tear-filled blue eyes, Jon knows he cannot deny her. Not now, not ever. She's all he's ever wanted and now she's come all this way to tell him that she wants him too. And though he knows he doesn't quite deserve her, he knows he would do anything to make her happy. 

Even going back home. 

And so he gives her one single nod before he pulls her into his arms, relishing in the feel of the warmth of her against him. He holds onto her there at the top of the wall, the snow beginning to fall all around them, the winter sun rising high into the sky above. When he draws back, her eyes are wet with tears, but her mouth is curving with the most radiant of smiles. “Say it,” she softly pleads and for once, Jon can smile a true smile. 

“Take me home.” 


	7. Attacked by wights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: sansa is injured by the wights in the crypt & jon is the one who tends to her wound.

The knock on her door comes just moments after she's arrived within her rooms, having spent the better part of the last several hours stitching wounds and sponging foreheads. "Come in," she calls as she strips from her cloak, draping it over the back of the chair that sits before the fire. She knows it's Jon before she turns around to face him, though when she does it's with a small smile. "I thought you were sent to your room to rest," she admonishes, though in truth she's glad to see him there. It meant he was well enough to be up on his feet again. 

"They said you were injured," he says bluntly, crossing the room to stand before her, noting the paleness of her features and the tired look in her eyes. Her gown is ruined, he also sees, covered in blood and god knows what else, though she seems not to mind. Her eyes widen at his words and she bites her lower lip, as if she's torn between telling him the truth or just keeping her mouth shut entirely. "Sansa!" He bursts out, reaching for her arm so he might pull her close, but instead she gasps without warning, wrenching her arm from his grip. And that's when he realizes it's true, she's been injured. 

"It's nothing serious," she says at once, though Jon seems to have lost his ability to hear her. He takes her by the hand and gently pushes her sleeve up, revealing a bloody bandage that could use changing. Badly. Jon looks from her injured arm to her face, back to the injury and then back to her face. "It's just a flesh wound," she insists, trying to draw her arm from his grasp, but he can't let her go. Not yet. He's understanding just what she's done on this night; her own injury had been hastily wrapped up and a sleeve pulled over it- out of sight, out of mind. And then she'd thrown herself entirely into caring for the wounded soldiers. Stitching wounds and cleaning burns, those things, those people, all came before her own pain, her own injury. 

"It needs tending to," he says, ignoring her protests as he draws her over to the nearest chair, her sewing basket settled atop the table it sits beside. He rummages inside and pulls out a few scraps of linen before he sets to work unwrapping her injured arm. The moment he sees it, Jon knows it's a sword wound- she was right, it wasn't deep, but it could become infected just the same as a deep one. Glancing across the room, he spots her wash basin, and he brings it over to the table and dunks one scrap into the water. "This might sting," he apologizes before he begins to gently dab at the wound, her every flinch like a knife in his gut. "How did it happen?" He asks, though part of him doesn't even want to know. He's afraid he's caused this by sending her to the crypts, not knowing the Night King would raise the dead from their very graves, not just the battlefield. 

"A wight," she says softly, watching his hands as he begins to tenderly wrap her injured arm in a fresh piece of linen. "It had a little girl, I couldn't just..." She sighs, shaking her head as she tries to push the images from her mind. The scene in the crypts below had been like something from a true nightmare and she only wished to forget them if she could. If. "I just couldn't sit back and do nothing." She finally finishes, turning her blue eyes back onto his face. 

Jon looks back to her, his hand gently pressed against her newly bandaged arm, knowing without a doubt he loved her. He had tried to deny it all he wanted, but not any longer. Listening to her tell him she'd fought back against the wights despite having no ability to hold a sword or even use a dagger, all to save a child who's name she probably didn't even know. It spoke volumes of who she was. And that was only one of the reasons Jon knew he loved her. There were hundreds of reasons he could think of, in truth, and suddenly he wanted her to know all of them. On this night when they both had survived, against all of the odds, it was like a sign from the gods that he needed to finally tell her the truth of how he felt. After all this time, after all the months of pining and longing... Even if she spat in his face, even if she pushed him away, he only wanted her to know. "Sansa... I..." She's smiling then, a sweet smile that brightens her eyes, a smile like he's not seen in many years. It was as if she could read his mind, as if she already knew what he was going to say. Her smile was as if she were saying go on already, say it. And so he does. "I love you." 


	8. Boat Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: boat bang. thats it, thats the prompt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one has actual mature content. obviously.

As Jon takes to the steps down to his cabin, he's decided to remain there for the entire voyage back North. He cares little for the sea air and would rather remain below deck where he can wallow in his misery alone. She's there on his mind, imprinted upon his heart, his soul; even now, minutes later, he can feel her arms around him. He would have given anything to remain by her side, to return home with her. But he's to return to the wall, to Castle Black, punishment for his crimes against the realm. Though most would call such a punishment unfair, Jon saw it as necessary. He didn't deserve to return home, not after what he had done. And though it pained him more than anything else ever had, he knew he was not worthy to stand at her side. 

And so he opens the door to his cabin, fully prepared to strip from his heavy furs and climb into his bunk and just sleep. He's so tired... So very tired. But the moment he steps into his room, he realizes he's not alone. 

He can't believe it, he dares not believe it, not even when he hears her softly speak his name. She's there on the edge of his bed, rising up as the door falls closed behind him, a smile curving on her lips. "Sansa..." He whispers as she comes closer to him, standing in the center of the small room. "How... What..." He cannot find the words to speak, he's so surprised to find her there in his room, it's almost like a dream. "I can't believe you're here..." He finally murmurs, blinking fast, realizing tears were threatening to spill from his eyes. "What are you doing here? I don't understand." He's finally found his voice and he asks the only thing he can think to ask. She isn't supposed to be here- she was to remain in King's Landing with Bran for a few weeks, returning to Winterfell when she was certain Bran was settled in his place as King. And yet... Here she was. 

Sansa does not speak, but rather she closes the gap between them; she stands so close now that Jon can smell the rose water she washes in, though the lingering scent of sea salt clings to her hair. There are no words she can say, not right now, and she hopes he will understand her in a moment. It's then that she leans in, capturing his mouth with hers. The kiss is long and slow, but it takes only a moment for Jon to yield to it. She feels his arms come around her and he returns the kiss with a newly ignited sense of passion. "You didn't think I was going to truly let you return to the wall, did you?" She asks when she finally pulls back, though her mouth is still so close he can feel her lips curve with a smile. "I can't be without you, Jon." She admits softly, so softly that he thinks he's only imagined her words. But then she's kissing him again, this time with a renewed ardor that is quite unlike the first kiss. 

For a long moment, Jon cannot think, cannot speak. But he understands now- she feels the same as he does, she always has. Her kiss tells him everything he needs to know. And so he kisses her back, tightening his hold on her waist as his tongue meets with hers. He can feel her hands at his chest, unclasping his cloak and letting it fall to the floor at their feet. One hand remains pressed against the small of her back, but the other trails up her spine until it slides into her long red hair. Her hands continue to make work of his layers of clothing, tugging his leather jerkin off and tossing it aside, her mouth never once wavering from his. "This way..." He murmurs a few moments later, though his mouth lingers near hers, lips pressing against the expanse of her jaw. He's tugging her towards the bed then, stopping only when his thighs bump into the edge of it. "Turn around," his voice is hoarse, his heart beat faster than it's ever been before. She does as he's bid and turns around, pulling her long red hair over a shoulder, exposing to him the laces that keep her dress together at the back. With shaking hands, he reaches for them and slowly begins to unlace the gown. As it begins to slide from her shoulders, she turns back around to face him, a new sort of smile falling into place on her face. He's certain he's never seen her more beautiful. 

She shrugs the gown from her body and lets it drop to the ground, pooling around her ankles. Jon sucks in a breath, his eyes taking in the sight of her body beneath her thin shift, her every curve enticing him. "Say you'll come home with me," she whispers as Jon reaches for her, crushing her against him, relishing in the warmth of her skin against his. She could have asked him anything in that moment and he'd have obliged. 

"Take me home." His voice is warm against the shell of her ear as his mouth brushes against her earlobe, teeth sinking into her soft flesh. He trails kisses down to her throat, careless of the bruises he leaves behind, one hand again sliding into her red hair. He's knocked her pins free and her hair tumbles from its braids, softer than silk in his hands. A moment later, he feels her hands on his chest, pushing him down onto the bed he stands before. Before she can climb on top of him, he's taking her by the hand and tugging her down beside him.

Suddenly, they are a tangle of limbs, every kiss igniting fire within their veins. His hands roam her body, her chemise the only thing separating skin from skin. Certain he can take no more, Jon grabs the hem of it and pulls it over her head, leaving her body bare to his gaze. She's as perfect as he had always thought she would be; her milky skin is soft to his every touch, her breasts small but the perfect fit for his palm. It takes only a moment for her to become aware of his arousal and he can feel her fingertips skimming across the length of him, his breeches uncomfortably tight. He lets go of her just long enough to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it aside just as her hands unlace his breeches. 

The moment he feels her hands upon him, Jon sees stars; her touch is warm and gentle as she navigates this new moment, sensations running through her that she's never before experienced. Jon guides her hand into movement and it's moments later that he's groaning her name, pleasure rushing through him as her hand makes work of his cock. He can't take much more and it's only then that he's pushing her back, placing himself before her, one hand on each of her knees. With a gentle push, he's between her legs, one hand on her left knee while the other one slides up the soft expanse of her inner thigh. In the back of his mind, he reminds himself she's never done this before and vows to be gentle with her. He looks down and meets her gaze, the smile she gives him his enough to tell him exactly what she wants. 

And so he slides inside of her, one hand still on her knee, the other gripping tightly to her hip, anchoring her to him. She's moaning beneath him then, arching her back to meet his first thrust, head thrown back as his name leaves her lips. Though he's slept with women before her, nothing could compare to what he felt right then. "Sansa!" He rasps her name as he leans over her, the hand once on her hip now placed to the side of her head. His mouth finds hers as he thrusts harder into her, every stroke sending waves of pleasure through him. She's hooking her legs around his hips then and the new angle must please her because she lets out a breathy cry that's almost enough to send him over the edge. But he pushes through, kissing her again as he grinds his pelvis into hers, knowing she was just as close to the end as he was. 

Suddenly, Jon can feel her body clamping down upon him, her cry unlike anything he's ever heard before. It's all he needs- the sure sound of her pleasure is enough to end things for him and Jon spills his seed into her, pulling free a few moments later. Panting, he collapses onto the bed at her side, though he slings an arm across her, tugging her closer. She breathes as hard as he does and she turns her head to face him, a smile toying with her lips. "I've wanted that for a long time," she admits, color flushing her cheeks. 

"So have I." He says softly, inclining his head to kiss her forehead. He can feel her hands on him again, stroking the length of him until he was solid in her grip. A soft moan escapes him as she sits upright, swinging her body over his, the very thought of what she was about to do arousing in the most delicious of ways. 

It was as he'd thought earlier, he would remain in his cabin until he reached the North. But he would spend his time quite differently than he'd originally thought. And that was just fine. 


	9. Braid Cutting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the request: daenerys kidnaps sansa & sends her hair to jon as a warning.

When she wakes, she's in a room she's never seen before.

Almost at once, the memories are returning to her, though in fragments of their whole parts. She can remember the goblet of wine upon her table, as if left there for her by a maid or Brienne. She can remember sliding off her fur cloak, draping it across the chair back before she reaches for the goblet. She can still remember the sweet taste of the wine as it touched her lips. And then... She was stumbling, heavy, the goblet slipping from her grasp to spill across the rushes. She falls next, her body tumbling to the ground where she lays, fighting to remain awake, alert. But she's losing the battle. The last thing she can recall before the darkness takes hold is the sound of her door closing. 

And that's it. 

"You're awake." 

The voice is at her doorway and so she turns, coming face to face with the silver haired Targaryen queen. She should have known. "Where have you brought me?" Sansa asks through gritted teeth, though she cannot find the footing to rise up from the bed. The sleeping draught Daenerys had somehow administered to her wine that night was strong, stronger than even the stuff the maester's had given her both in King's Landing and at Castle Black. Her limbs feel like lead, her brain still yet foggy, and she hates herself for it. If only she were a little stronger. 

"Dragonstone," the dragon queen says as she pushes away from the door to come closer to the bed. "I have brought you here as my hostage." She speaks casually, violet eyes brimming with white hot rage. She hates her, this dragon queen, Sansa realizes. "Jon Snow will regret betraying my trust, my heart." Daenerys whispers as she comes even closer yet. It's only then that Sansa notices the small blade clutched tightly in the woman's hands. "I will not kill you," Daenerys says as she reaches out with her free hand, grasping Sansa by the end of her long, red braid. Sansa's stiff, tired body cannot react fast enough to what is to come next. "I mean only to send him a message." Before Sansa can say a single word, Daenerys puts the blade more than half way up the braid and hacks it off. 

She allows Sansa to fall back against the bed, the long braid now clutched tightly in her hand. Daenerys recalls that night she'd seen them together, when Jon had run his hands through those vibrant red strands. Even now, she seethes thinking about it, and even the destroying of that hair is not enough to calm her angry heart. The dragon queen turns on her heel then and storms from the room, into another where she will prepare the message to send to Jon and to the North. 

Left in her rooms, Sansa can only struggle back into a sitting position, hating herself for the tears that cling to her lashes. She reaches up a hand, touching her now butchered red locks. The length that once fell to her waist now barely touches her shoulders; it's ends are jagged and uneven, a testament to the dullness of the blade Daenerys had used. "Not my hair," she murmurs as tears begin to course down her cheeks, sorrow and anger both coursing through her. She could not help but to feel the loss of her hair- proof of her Tully heritage, grown since her days as a carefree child in Winterfell. Hair that Jon loved to run his hands through, hair that he whispered was his favorite piece of her. 

Now it was gone. 

[ x x x ]

She's been gone three days when the raven arrives.

Jon is pacing his solar, sleepless and wild. He's certain of where Sansa has been taken too, Dragonstone of course, but how can he attack when she has her dragons? The moment he approached the island, Jon knew she would set the dragons out to make quick work of his fleet and soldiers. No... Getting Sansa back would take more than just a typical army tactic. 

"My lord?"

He turns when the voice breaks into his thoughts; it's Davos, hand extending out to hand him a scroll. "It only just came." The older man says as Jon takes the letter, knowing without any ounce of doubt who it would be from. He slowly unrolls the parchment and his heart sinks into his stomach as the long, single plait of red hair falls into his palm. He hears Davos' breath catch in his throat as he too sees the hair that's fallen free from the letter. 

Though his anger threatens to blind him, Jon takes a deep breath, the braid clutched tightly in his other fist, and he reads:

_Jon, _   
_There can not be two heirs to the Iron Throne- give up your claim and I will set her free._   
_Or don't... And I will cut off more than her pretty red hair. _

When he's finished reading, he's already on the move, thrusting the letter into Davos' hands, pushing past him to rush from the room. He will go to Dragonstone and he will save her. One way or another, he will get her back.


	10. Brienne finds Jonsa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: brienne discovers jonsa in bed together.

As she did every night, Brienne walked the halls of Winterfell to ensure all was quiet, all was secure. With potential enemies lurking in every shadow, she could never be too careful, nor too worried, when it came to her lady's safety. In truth, Brienne would not put it past Daenerys Targaryen to have Sansa murdered in her bed, nor anyone else she saw as a hindrance to her own cause. And that was the last thing she would allow to happen.

It was as she stepped into one of the furthest back halls that she caught sight of light beneath a closed door. Odd, she thought as she took a few steps closer, thinking it must have been two servants or even a soldier and one of Sansa's few maids, behind the door. The sworn shield knew well what was happening behind that door, she was no idiot. Chuckling, Brienne turned to go when she heard it, the unmistakable sound of her lady's voice. Brienne froze, turning back to the door as if she meant to open it, as if she meant to go inside and stop at once whatever was happening. Fear rushed through her, she could not stop it, and her hand was on the door knob as if she truly meant to push the door open. She worried constantly about Sansa and knowing what she knew she had suffered through, she could not begin to imagine it happening to her again.

And that was what ultimately forced her to open the door. "Lady Sansa!" She cried as she rushed inside, her eyes straining to see by the dying firelight. On the bed, sure enough there was her lady on her back, with her legs hooked around a man's hips, though she gave a surprised cry and pulled back when Brienne charged into the room. More surprising than anything else was the man now kneeling on the bed beside her, his body covered by the old sheet from the bed they sat upon it. Jon Snow was the last man she expected to see Sansa engaging in such an act with... And yet... Was it truly all that surprising? Shock settled in and then embarrassment, as she realized she had not walked in to save her lady from harm nor from danger. Rather, Sansa had been quite enjoying whatever it was Jon had just been doing to her. "Forgive me." Brienne muttered before she backed from the room, closing the door behind her with a quick slam.

She made her way back through the halls, wondering to herself how she had missed such a budding relationship all these weeks and months since she had brought Sansa to Castle Black. Since the two of them had taken back Winterfell. Had Brienne herself not witnessed their longing stares or the way her lady lit up when Jon stepped into a room? Had she not caught them surprisingly close together in Sansa's rooms the day he returned from Dragonstone just days ago? And now that she thought about it, Sansa had never returned to her rooms the night before Jon had left for Dragonstone. Now that she thought about it, there were dozens of moments that pointed at this outcome. Brienne knew she should have been shocked, given the nature of their relationship, and yet... She was only happy for her lady. Sansa had been used and abused by every man that had come into her life until Jon. Half brother or not, he made her happy, and Brienne loved Sansa enough to know such a thing didn't matter if it meant Sansa was happy and safe. If she was happy, Brienne was happy.

So Brienne returned to stand guard outside Sansa's rooms and that would be where she still yet stood when Jon and Sansa came sneaking back a few hours later. She smiled as she ushered the young woman back inside, but turned to face Jon Snow for only a moment, hoping her silent stare told him everything he needed to know. And as if he understood, Jon nodded, and then was gone down the hall, returning to his own rooms for the remainder of the night. Brienne pushed open the door to Sansa's rooms and took note of the glow of her cheeks, of the brightness of her smile, and she knew... She was happy.

And so was she.


	11. Orphan Jon 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: sansa brings home orphan jon. 1 of a few in the same "timeline"

Sansa was five when she brought home a boy from the river. 

Ned Stark supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, considering the amount of other things and animals she'd bring home with her from down at the rivers edge, but a boy was certainly the last thing he expected. She had come bouncing through the courtyard with the boy's hand in hers, truly dragging him along with her towards the godswood where she had known her father to be. Those outside that afternoon had laughed, watching the young girl as she went, thinking she had made friend's with a Wintertown boy, not thinking for the slightest who he truly could be. 

"Father!" Sansa's singsong voice cried out as soon as she stepped foot beneath the weirwood trees; there he was, sitting beneath the heart tree, eyes closed in thought. But Ned opened his eyes at the sound of his daughter's voice and smiled as she came towards him, dragging with her a boy of about Robb's age. She's breathless when she approached him, red hair wild from running, her clear blue eyes wide in her features. Though she was only five, Ned knew she would grow into a great beauty someday. "Father! Look, I have brought a friend home to live with us." She smiles widely, glancing from her father to the boy that now hovers behind her, looking quite uncomfortable. "Please say he may stay with us!" 

He grins down at his daughter's upturned face and gently nudges her to the side, encouraging the young boy to step forward, closer to him. The boy looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else. "What's your name, son?" Ned asks as he takes in the sight of him; wild dark curls and deep set brown eyes that trusted no one. His clothing isn't rags and tatters, but old and in need of a wash and mend. His face is smudged with dirt and probably a bruise or two. 

"Jon, ser. Jon Snow." The boy replies in a defensive sort of tone, eyes narrowing, daring Ned to make a remark about his bastard status. Instead, he's surprised when the man smiles upon him and reached out to touch the top of his head quite tenderly, as he thought a father might do to his son. 

"Jon Snow, you say? Well Jon Snow, how does a hot meal sound?" Ned asks and he feels a warmth in his heart when the boy's face lights up. "And a warm bed to sleep in?" At that, the boy's eyes well up and Ned knows now that this boy has no home to return to. It's not just a local boy Sansa has brought home, it's a homeless orphan. "Go on Sansa, take him home, I'll follow you." Ned smiles when Sansa gives an excited cry and immediately takes the boy by the hand again, pulling him back towards Winterfell. Ned stands up and watches them go, a strange feeling settled into the pit of his stomach... A feeling that told him he needed to keep Jon and protect him as he would any of his own children. And seeing Sansa and him together, hand in hand, gave him another strange, but fluttering feeling. It was almost like looking into the future. 

But Ned shakes away the feelings and begins to walk, trailing after the kids back to home. 


	12. Orphan Jon 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: jon (almost) has a terrible first morning at winterfell.

When Sansa hears his first shout, she leaps from her own bed and dashes past Agatha who calls out after her, though Sansa pretends she cannot hear her. In just her white nightgown, she runs down the hall to where the yelling is coming from. Jon's rooms are full of commotion; the boy stands at the center of it all, his eyes as wild as his dark curls. A cluster of maids stand around him, one trying her best to soothe the panting boy, though he looks like in any moment he'll snap. At his either side, his hands are tightly curled into fists. 

She nudges into the circle and at once a maid has her hand on Sansa's arm. "Little lady you must stay back, the boy is wild!" In truth, none of the women can understand why their Lord Stark had taken in the orphan boy on the whims of this little girl who had found him beside the river only the day before. Sansa glances at the woman's arm and sees the red, angry mark of a bite- no wonder they call him wild. 

"He's my friend," she says with a shrug before she turns back to face Jon, who still yet stands there in the center of the room, looking as agitated as he had when she came in. "It's only a bath, Jon," she smiles for him as she takes a single step closer to him. Jon takes a step back, eyes narrowing, but he cannot help but to relax when he sees her smile. He doesn't quite understand it yet, but somehow he knows she's come to save him yet again. "It's alright, I'll stay with you if you'd like," she soothes as she comes closer still, reaching out to gently touch his fist. At her touch, warmth spreads through him and Jon feels... Safe. He's reminded of how he had felt the day before when he had first saw her beside the river, the sunlight glinting off her fire red hair. He's never seen hair that color before but he likes it. 

"Please, stay," he whispers and Sansa is all smiles again. She stands on the other side of the sheet while he allows a maid to help him from his clothes and into the tub. The moment she hears the splash, Sansa rushes around to the edge of the tub, laughing at his surprised face. "It's warm!"

"Of course it's warm, silly!" Sansa giggles as she sinks down to her hunches, red hair tumbling over her shoulders. He may only be seven, but Jon realizes then that this girl has never known anything but warm baths and beds. He wishes he could be jealous or even angry, but staring into her bright blue eyes he feels only safety and he feels happy, too. One of the maids comes over then and sets to work washing his hair, while Sansa sits there beside the tub just talking; she tells him about her newest "brother" a boy named Theon who had come from the Iron Islands only a few weeks before. She tells him about Arya tumbling down the stairs two mornings ago chasing after Robb. 

By the time she finishes her story about Arya, she's being ushered around the sheet again, this time so Jon can be pulled from the tub and dried off. New clothes borrowed from Robb's closet were brought in and he's dressed- though Jon is shorter than Robb, they fit the boy well. When the sheet is pulled down, it reveals Jon to her for the first time and a smile spreads across her lips as he looks shyly down at his feet. "You look nice!" Sansa sings and at once the boy's face lifts and lights up with a wide smile of his own. Sansa decided she wanted to do more things to make him smile. "Come! Let us go down for breakfast!" She takes him by the hand and draws him towards the door.

"Not so fast," it's Ned Stark standing there in the doorway with a smile, once again feeling that peculiar feeling as if he knew he were seeing a future of some kind when he catches sight of their interlocked hands. "You my little lady must go get dressed!" He leans in and tugs Sansa close, his giggling little girl throwing her arms around his neck for a long embrace. "Go on now, I'll take Jon down to the great hall." Sansa sighs as she draws back, but she's still smiling, knowing quite well there would be no place for a girl in her night clothes at breakfast. 

"Don't be scared, I'll be with you soon." Sansa says when she turns back to Jon, once again reaching out to touch his hand. Jon smiles and he nods, her smile offering him enough bravery to fall into step beside Lord Stark or even the scariest of monsters. Somehow, she made him feel warm and strong, and he could not help but to want to never let that feeling go. After so long of being alone, being without anyone at all, Jon had almost forgotten what it was like to feel love. 

They had only known one another a night, but Sansa already felt like home. 


	13. Orphan Jon 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: sansa tells jon a story of aemon the dragonknight when he can't sleep.

Sansa wakes the third night since Jon's arrival from a strange dream.

She blinks, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she tries to recall every moment- first a wolf's lonely howl, the swirl of white winter snow... She yawns, shaking her thoughts clear of the dream as they turn to Jon instead. Though it's quite late and she knows she'd been in trouble for getting out of bed, Sansa can't stop herself. She climbs from her bed and tiptoes across the room and out of the door. Jon's room is just down the hall from her own and she makes her way quietly through the darkness until she reaches his door. Somehow, she knows he's awake inside. 

Pushing open the door, she closes it quietly behind her; Jon is sitting up when she turns around to face her, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight that spills through his parted curtains. "Can't you sleep?" She asks in a whisper, coming towards his bed, noticing his blankets were rumpled like he has been tossing and turning all night long. 

Jon shakes his head. It's true, he's laid awake for so many hours now he's lost track. He cannot recall the last time he slept in a bed like this, perhaps never. It surprises him how little and yet how much he misses the life he'd grown to know and accept. 

"Old Nan always tells me a story when I cannot sleep," Sansa says into the darkness, her own eyes catching the moonlight as she smiles. "Shall I tell you one?" It takes only a moment for Jon to nod and to his surprise, she climbs up into the bed beside him, settling happily beneath the blanket. "What shall I tell?" She drums her fingers atop legs as she thinks, humming softly to herself and Jon wonders if she even realizes she's doing it. "I know!" She finally cries, though she claps a hand to her mouth in her surprise at what she's just done. But they sit in silence a few long moments, both dreading the punishment that would come at being caught up so late. However after a minute, both sigh in relief, apparently she had not been heard. "I will tell you about Aemon the Dragonknight!" It's Jon's turn to gasp and Sansa looks at him with surprise. "You know his story?" 

"It is my favorite," Jon says bashfully, looking down at his hands tangled together on his lap. "My mother..." He flinches, thinking of her hurt, but knowing he was forgetting her face hurt even more. "My mother used to tell me the story of Aemon." He feels Sansa shift and suddenly her hand is laying over top his, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

"I can tell another one," she may be small, but Sansa understands that Jon is sad thinking about Aemon and the stories his mother used to tell him. She also understands that his mother has died and that was why he was alone at the river, or so her father had explained to her. 

"No... I would like to hear such a story." He says after a moment of silence. Jon turns to look her in the eye and he smiles. "I've not heard it in so long... I've almost forgotten it. Please, tell it to me." And so they both settle back against the pillow they share, Sansa's soft words weaving him a picture of the valiant Dragonknight Aemon Targaryen, the strongest knight to have ever lived. Jon lays beside her listening, well aware her hand is still clasped with his. Her story is the one about Aemon and Baelor in the snake pit. Her words are so descriptive that Jon swears he can hear the hissing of the snakes as she tells the tale.

It's as she's halfway through the story that she's beginning to yawn; Jon too can feel his eyelids becoming droopy as he fights to stay awake, if only to hear a few more words of her story. Finally, she comes to the conclusion of Aemon carrying Baelor away to safety. Jon knows she's asleep a long moment before he feels it claim him. He smiles as he realizes she's slipped down on the pillow just enough that her head rests against his shoulder. _I haven't forgotten..._ He thinks as he closes his eyes. _I remember, mother... I remember. _

And then... He sleeps. 


	14. Orphan Jon 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: sansa and jon have a dance lesson.

When Sansa passes by the great hall, she's surprised to see Jon inside. She slows her walk until she comes to a stop, turning back so she might look through the slightly ajar door, watching him quietly. Jon stands at the center of the room which has been cleared of it's long tables, moved out of the way for that morning's dance lesson. A lesson which of course Jon had not attended. She blinks, the usual tremor of sorrow rushing through her as she realizes as always, Jon only wishes to belong. 

And so she pushes open the door, sweeping into the room, catching his attention at once. He turns to face her with surprise, red tinting his cheeks as if he's shamed by being caught there. "Would you like to learn?" She asks with a smile, brushing her red hair across a shoulder. "I can teach you." Though well accepted by the Stark children, their mother could not accept Jon as her own... Perhaps it was because she believed him to be their father's own bastard, though her father swore it was not so. _How could he be, Catelyn? When Sansa brought him home from the river that morning? If he were my own, would I not have taken him in the moment of his birth?_ Sansa had overheard her father say only a few nights prior, when he and her mother had been arguing again in their chamber. 

Jon blinks but then a slow smile spread and he nods his head. It was true, he longed to belong to the whole Stark pack- even now, ten years since he had joined their household, Catelyn Stark still looked upon him with disdain. He could not say what it was that he had done to deserve her anger, besides looking similar to the Starks- if he knew more, he would have been able to say perhaps she felt threatened that he looked more Stark like than her own true born sons. But Jon could only shrug and ignore her, they had so little interactions now that he had begun to grow into manhood. Besides... He had what he needed in terms of family standing there there in front of him.

He couldn't say when the flutters began, but they had hit him hard in these last few weeks. They had grown these last ten years, from a pair of friends to something more, though Jon didn't know what they were to call that either. She was a noble born lady, far beyond his station as a charity case living under the care of the Lord. It mattered not what their hearts felt. 

Sansa takes a step closer to him then and grinning, reaches for his hands. "Here, you put them here..." she places one hand on her hip, "and here." This hand she kept in hers, raising them to shoulder height, while she settled her other hand upon his shoulder. "Now... To the left, two steps," she begins speaking the slow, steady moves of the dance they had been taught this morning when Theon had stepped on her toes. "A bit faster this time," Sansa laughs at his expression but gives him a nod as if to say she believed in him. They swirl around the hall, Sansa still yet speaking every move out to him, faster and faster until even she can barely keep up.

When they are both dizzy and laughing, they collapse into a heap on the floor, Sansa's dark skirts gathered all around her. "You dance well, Jon Snow," she teases with a giggle, tilting her head back, red hair spilling down her back. "Better than Theon, at least." They share a laugh at their other foster brother, sent here from the Iron Islands not long after Jon's own arrival. "But I think you'll need a few more lessons." 

"If you're giving them, I won't mind." He says with a smirk and to his surprise, her cheeks turn red with color, giving her a look he's never seen before. But he likes it. Forcing away these new thoughts coming to mind, Jon rises to his feet and offers her his hand. She takes it with a grateful smile and the moment her hand is in his, it's like an electric shock- she can feel it too, he sees it all over her face. Neither of them speak for a long moment until Jon forces a grin and she does too, though her sapphire eyes are dark as they raise to meet his. 

He wants to open his mouth to speak but they both jump when a voice is at the door. 

"Sansa!" Catelyn Stark snaps from where she stands in the doorway, looking in at her daughter and Jon. They stand much too close for comfort and Catelyn takes a single step into the room. "Come along." Is all she says before her daughter scurries towards her, out past her and into the hallway with only a single glance back at Jon. Catelyn remains still for just a moment, keeping her eyes locked on the boy... But then she turns and follows Sansa from the room, leaving Jon alone once more. 

But even so... His hand is still warm from where it once held hers. 


	15. We were built to fall apart and fall back together.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: taylor swift lyric prompt, we were built to fall apart & fall back together.

  
She's scared and she's alone. 

The room is dark and she wishes for sunlight, for warmth. She wishes for just one night she might close her eyes and dream, she wishes for just one single moment of peace. Fear is in her blood, in her soul, and it keeps her awake when all she longs to do is sleep. _We were built to fall apart,_ she thinks, fingertips trailing along the frosted windowpane, blue eyes staring out into the swirling winter snow. Outside, the storm rages on, as does her the one within her heart and mind. 

Winterfell is hers again, but at what cost?

She thinks about Rickon, taken from them before their very eyes. She thinks about Arya, uncertain if her only little sister lived or died. She thinks about Bran, out there somewhere, and she wonders if he's safe and warm in the storm. And she thinks of Robb, with the snow melting in his Tully touched hair as his enemies sew his head upon his own wolve's body. She thinks of marrying Ramsay and his violent hands. She thinks of her father's steady gaze a moment before his head was cut from his neck. And her mother... Her poor mother. She thinks of her too and how they threw her away like garbage. Winterfell is hers again, but at what cost?

It's then that she thinks of Jon.

He comes to her mind with ease; his stoic, Stark features swim in her mind, a constant reminder that she was not yet alone. She thinks of him wrapping her in his furs the day she found him at Castle Black. And she smiles when she thinks of him complimenting her green velvet gown the day they'd gone to face Ramsay for the first time. She thinks of him beating Ramsay into the ground, not stopping until he had sensed her presence, his knuckes bruised and bleeding. Jon had done that for her. He had built an army for her and had helped her to reclaim Winterfell in the name of House Stark. Jon was all she had left. 

"Sansa?" 

She turns at the sound of his voice and she smiles slightly, clutching her robe a little more tightly around her. He stands there, as if summoned by her thoughts of him. "Can't you sleep?" She asks, to which he shakes his head, coming to stand before her. His smile warms her. _We were built to fall apart,_ she thinks again, _and fall back together. _

And then she's in his arms. 


	16. Craves his touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: (based on a meta) sansa craves jon's touch.

She remembers a time not so long ago when she was fearful of a man's touch, but now... Now she's hungry for it. The feeling of Jon's hands on her body, warm despite the layers of clothes between skin, is everything. He's gentle, but there's a hunger behind his touch that tells her he's longed for this just as long as she has. 

"Sansa..." Her name is soft upon his lips, his breath warm against the skin of her neck as he brushes back her hair, breathing her in as if she is the air he needs in his lungs. "We don't have to..." He reminds her, softer still, the hand on her hip warm and strong. Her heart lurches and she closes her eyes, offering a silent prayer to any listening god for sending her back to this man. Once, she had sworn to never pray again, now she prays to keep him beside her forever. She cannot imagine her life without Jon, not now, not ever. They both know what they're doing is wrong- but that can't stop them, not anymore. After long lives of unhappiness, who could blame them for finding even a piece of joy, even if it was with someone they weren't meant to love? 

"I want to," she whispers back and at once, his mouth is on hers. The kiss is sweet and slow, but like his touch, there's a hunger behind it that fills her belly with warmth. "Take me to bed," she commands softly, breaking the kiss only to say these few words, words that make Jon pull back and stare at her with his dark, Stark colored eyes. But her smile brings him back and he slowly nods, taking her by the hand to lead her towards the bed that sits against the other wall. 

He turns her around so he can reach the laces of her gown, moving slowly so she can change her mind if she wants. But, as the laces loosen enough so the gown can slide from her shoulders, she's turning back to face him, clutching the gown close to her chest. A small, flushed smile appears and Jon realizes how nervous she must be, so he reaches for her, tenderly touching her cheek to offer her whatever bit of comfort she needed in that moment. It was enough, he supposes, because a moment later she allows the black gown to fall from her body and pool at her feet on the floor. 

For a moment, he's caught off guard by the sight of her body just barely visible beneath the thin material of her chemise. She must think he's displeased for she hugs her arm close to herself, looking away as red hair falls across a shoulder. In truth, she's so beautiful, he doesn't dare to believe he's seeing her like this. Hundreds of times he's had lustful thoughts about a moment such as this, but she surpasses any dream or thought he's ever had. "I love you," the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them and the look on her face tells him they were the right ones to say. The truth was always the way to go, he supposes. "I know it's wrong... I know what they will say..." He's silenced by her kiss, strong and true, and he wraps his arms around her waist, drawing her in close. 

"Let them talk," she whispers against his jaw, her lips trailing down to his neck, teeth sinking into the soft flesh near his beating pulse. "I love you, too." Her words are soft as she raises her gaze back to his, a hand reaching out to slide into his unruly dark curls. They are softer than silk against her skin. She cares not if they share a father's blood, she cares not what the world around them will say. She only cares that he is with her and she is with him. 

And as he tugs her down onto the bed, she knows he is hers and she is his. 


	17. Dance with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another in the "orphan jon" series. jon repays sansa for her dance lessons as kids.

"You won't forget me, right?" 

They're laying in his bed, a tangle of limbs and blankets, her head nuzzled closely into his neck while his hand idly toys with a strand of red hair. "How could I?" He whispers into the darkness of the room, the fire had died out hours ago. She feels him turn his head towards her, his lips pressing against her forehead. They lay in silence a while longer until suddenly Jon is sitting up. "Get dressed," is all he says before he's swinging his legs over the bed and sliding free from the warmth of the blankets and her. Sansa props herself up onto an elbow, watching in amusement as he shimmies into his discarded breeches. "Come on then." He encourages with a chuckle, offering her his hand to take. She does. 

A few moments later, he's lacing her back into the gown he'd nearly torn from her body a few hours before. "Where are you taking me?" She asks as he swings her cloak around her shoulders, pulling the hood up over her head himself. "Jon!" She's giggling as he takes her by the hand, giving her a quick tug towards the door. 

"You'll see." 

They dart through the corridors, chasing each other, careful to keep their voices down as not to wake the entire castle. If the guards throughout the castle notice them, they say nothing at all. "This way," Jon says, his hand still wrapped around hers, and he draws her out the double doors and into the cold, winter night. They cross through the courtyard and she at once knows where he's taking her: the godswood. 

He draws her down beneath the canopy of weirwood trees, not stopping until they reach the heart tree. "Jon..." She speaks softly, peering into his Stark colored eyes, the moonlight streaming in through the trees, bathing them in a soft, silver glow. He does not speak but rather captures her mouth with his; the kiss is sweet and strong, his arms coming to wrap around her. When he draws back a few moments later, it is to gently touch her cheek, his eyes never straying from her face. 

"Dance with me," is all he finally says with a small grin. Sansa blinks but then smiles, giving him a single nod. She's recalling their talk from a few days before, when she had mentioned to him her desire to spend even just one night with him as if nothing was amiss. Just to dance and be with you, it's all I would want, she had whispered against his ear as she lay in bed beside him, lounging far longer into the morning than was surely appropriate. He puts one hand at her waist and Sansa puts one to his shoulder, their other hands meet in the air a moment before he begins to move. They had been here one time before, years ago, when they were still just children at Winterfell. Her mother had taught them all to dance, even Jon, and she and him had been paired together for many of the lessons. Back then, she'd never have known one day she would long to touch him, hold him, love him. 

They swayed together beneath the heart tree, the only light the moonlight from above, dancing together, knowing that after tonight... Everything was going to change. 


	18. Daenerys walks in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: daenerys walks in on jonsa in bed together.

She's at the door watching, she can't help it.

She watches as Jon spills his seed into the girl he once called sister. She watches as he draws her into him, pressing a tender kiss to her mouth before he brushes a stray lock of red hair from her forehead. And she watches when he trails his hands down the length of her body, as if he simply can't get enough of touching her, the way he looked at her as if she were the moon itself hanging in the starry sky. He never had looked at her in such a way, not even when they had once laid together, not even after when he had called his my queen and touched her hand. 

And she can't take it any longer.

With a push of the door, she's in his rooms, shocking both of them; Jon leaps up from the bed, hastily tugging on his discarded breeches while Sansa fumbles with the blanket, pulling it up to cover her naked frame. Neither look shamed by being caught and in truth, Daenerys could swear Sansa looks smug. 

"You dare betray me, Jon Snow," she hisses as she comes to stand in the center of the room, violet eyes narrowing as they gaze upon the man before her. "I have given you my heart and my armies... I have given the life of my child in this fight against _your_ enemy, and this is how you repay me?" Her gaze swivels to Sansa on the bed, who stares back at her with a steady sapphire gaze, unwavering, unafraid. She would soon fear her. Jon opens his mouth to speak but she turns back to him, cutting him off before he could speak. "When I take my throne... You will pay for making a mockery of me." 

She turns then, storming from the room without so much as a backwards glance. In the morning, she would take her remaining armies and head south. There she would crush Cersei and take the throne that had always belonged to her. And when she finally sat upon it, she would take all Jon loved and in the end, he would beg for death. 

That she was certain of. 


	19. Daenerys Watches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: daenerys watches jonsa in bed together.

She knows things are amiss and yet she can’t help but to push the thoughts away and seek him out. Perhaps if only they might speak… Perhaps then she might hear him again call her his queen and feel his warm lips against hers. Then all would be well again. She tries hard to assure herself that the way Jon looks at his beloved sister is nothing more than brotherly love and yet… She sees how he looks at the younger sister, the dark haired girl that looks like him, and his gaze is so very different.

As she approaches his chambers, Dany hears the muffled sounds of voices from within; she pauses where she stands, breath catching in her throat when she hears a woman’s voice crying out in pleasure. It can’t be, she thinks as she puts her hand to the door, pushing it open just enough so she can see inside. What she sees is not what she expects and yet, at the same time, it’s the one thing she’s feared the most since she stepped foot here in Winterfell. A long, lithe body writhes on the bed, red hair so long that it cascades over the edge of the bed towards the floor below. She’s got her pale, slender legs hooked around Jon’s hips as he thrusts into her, his head thrown back as he moans her name.

Her first instinct is to turn away but now that she’s there, Dany can’t take her eyes off of the pair. Sansa is arching against him, a pool of pleasure beneath him as he shifts her body, leaning over her to capture her mouth with his. Why… Dany wonders as she watches, why her? It was true, Sansa Stark was beautiful, but what did she have that Dany does not?_ I am his queen, his love, he’s said so himself…_ And yet… Had he? Dany blinks as she racks her brain, trying to recall a time when Jon had whispered those words to her, and she realizes she can find not one. They had not even shared each other’s bed again since that night on the ship and their intimate moment had been so unlike this one she was witnessing with her own two eyes.

And suddenly, white hot rage surges through her body; Dany watches in silence as the man she loves- the man she’s lost a dragon and nearly all of her army for- fuck a woman that isn’t her. A woman he once called sister. Dany seethes, violet eyes flickering from Jon to Sansa, watching as the young woman cries out his name, her head thrown back with the force of her satisfaction. She watches on as Jon finishes his deed, uncaring as he empties his seed into the woman beneath him- a thing he had not done for even her, though she had told him she was barren. Her anger mounts. She watches as Jon collapses onto the bed beside her, drawing her naked frame into his arms and holding on to her for dear life. When had he held her that way?

She quietly closes the door and backs away, body trembling as she walks down the long hall towards her own chambers. Once inside, she slams the door closed and upends the table, breaking the pitcher filled with wine all over the floor. She stands among the mess, panting, nothing but anger rushing through her veins._ They will pay,_ she decides as she stands there, no… _she_ will pay. It was easy to blame the lovely redhead for what she had just witnessed- Jon had once been hers and somehow she had managed to steal him from her. After all she had done for these people, after all she had sacrificed to their cause, they betray her.

And so they will pay, she will make sure of it.


	20. Don't call me that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: sansa doesnt ever want to hear jon say "my queen" again

It's been a long, trying day and she supposes it's her right as queen to have a bath drawn so late into the night. Though she feels somewhat guilty watching the maids fill up the copper tub with buckets of steaming water, the moment she sinks into it's rose scented depths, she knows she's made the right choice. 

Waving away the other handmaidens, it is only Shae that she gives leave to remain and her most loyal lady takes up her time putting away the gown from that day and preparing both her nightgown and fur lined robe, hanging both before the fire to warm before Sansa slips into them later. It is Shae alone that she can tolerate after a day such as this, though she suspects Shae longs to find out what's upset her this day simply so she might handle it on her behalf. Sansa can't help but to smile- Shae forgets that Winterfell is quite unlike King's Landing but it warms her heart to know that the older woman cares as much as she had back then. 

She sighs, sinking further into the hot water, just beginning to allow herself to unwind when she hears the knock to her door. Shae crosses the room, dipping behind the sheet that blocks the young queen's bath from those who might step into the room and the first thing she hears is her sigh of disapproval. "The queen is in the bath," Shae says to whoever stands at the door and Sansa can already picture her with her arms folded over her chest, dark eyes peering at the visitor with indignation. 

"But..." 

Sansa moves fast, sloshing water over the sides of her tub in her effort to sit upright before she hears the door close. "Shae." She calls out, voice choked, eyes wild when Shae steps around the curtain once more. "Let him in," she says softly, ignoring the fact that she's naked in the bath, ignoring the fact that it's late into the night. "Please." She softens and Shae narrows her eyes for only a moment before she sighs and turns back around, disappearing once again to find the young man that had knocked. 

Her heart is fluttering fast within her chest as she rises up from the tub, stepping out into the cold air of the room bringing goosebumps to her skin. She shivers into her nightgown and it's just as she's tugging her robe close around her that she hears the door open again. "Just a moment, then." Shae's voice says a moment before she ducks her head around the sheet, ensuring the young woman was decent enough for a visitor. Though she's never met this man, she knows who he is, the Stark in him was undeniable after all.

When the sheet comes down, it's Jon that stands there in her doorway, his dark eyes widening at the sight of her. Sansa sucks in a breath, blinking fast as tears rise to cling to her lashes. "Jon..." She whispers his name, the name that's not been far from her thoughts this whole long year without him. He's the same as always- though with wilder hair and more scruff along his jaw than she's ever before seen. But he looks at her with those deep set eyes and though she's stood in Wintefell all this time, she finally feels home. 

Though the only thing he can think to do is take her into his arms, Jon knows there's something first he must do. And so he crosses the room and bows low to her, before slowly sinking to one knee before her, head down, gaze on the floor. Even here, with her fresh from the bath, she is every inch the queen he had known she would be. "My queen..." He murmurs, his gaze locked on the trailing hem of her nightgown. There's hundreds of thoughts racing through his mind and though he had what felt like a dozen speeches to give to her, he can think of none of them now.

"Don't call me that." 

Jon's face snaps up, her tone sharp, her gaze even sharper. It only takes a moment for her to soften though, her blue eyes full of unshed tears. She remembers who he last called my queen and she shudders, feeling like it is a bad omen to hear him call her the same. Reaching out, she offers him her hand, helping pull him to his feet. "What do you wish for me to call you then, your grace?" He tries again, this time pulling a chuckle from Sansa's lips a moment before she's falling into his open arms.

"Call me by my name."

"Alright then... Sansa..." The sound of her name upon his lips sends chills racing down her spine, pleasure seeping into her bones with a warmth like the summer sun. His arms tighten their hold upon her and she sinks into his embrace, knowing there were hundreds of things to ask, hundreds of things she needed to know. But right then, right there, all that mattered was how tightly he held onto her. 


	21. You don't have to stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: "you dont have to stay"

Her touch is soft and warm. Jon looks up into her sapphire eyes, desperate to feel anything but the fear trapped inside of his heart. The gaze that peers back at him is warm and comforting, unlike anything else in this world ever could be. They are hours from what could very well be the end of their lives, the end of everything they've ever known and ever loved. Death was at their doorstep and Jon knew in a few short hours, he would be upon the battlefield, fighting a war he hopes he can win. 

Jon leans in closer to her, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "You don't have to stay," he says softly, his gaze never wavering from hers. She had come to his rooms a little while before, despite the late hour, joining him for what could be their last mug of wine and ale. Their last chance to see one another before the Night King and his army of the undead arrived at their door. Her black armor dress had been discarded for a softer gray one, her long red hair unbound from its usual braids, and he longed to run his hands through its length. In truth, there was nothing more he wanted than for her to stay with him. 

"I want to," she whispers, leaning in so she could close the final gap between them, her mouth finding his a moment later. He yields to her kiss without hesitation, his hands rising up so one could slide into her soft red hair, the other cupping her cheek into his palm. Her kiss was fiery, unlike any of the previous ones they'd shared, a kiss that told him what she wanted him to do. And so he broke the kiss only so he could slip his arms beneath her, hefting her up into his arms as he rose to his feet. This might be their final night together, their one chance to do what they both had always wanted to do. For one night, they could do what they wished without fear or hesitation.

And so Jon carries her to his bed, gently depositing her atop the furs, before climbing in over her. He's kissing her again and his hands are roaming her body as her own slide into his wild curls. They undress each other, slowly, and Jon can't help himself from kissing every scar he stumbles across, knowing each one held a story that caused her pain and suffering. He palms her soft skin, kneading it gently, every touch spreading wildfire through her icy veins. And when he's inside of her, he leans over her to kiss away her tears, knowing she cries for what could be, for what they might never have. 

Later, when she sleeps curled up in the crook of his arm, Jon closes his eyes against his own tears, knowing there was a chance he might never have this moment again. He only wishes they had given into their feelings months before, back then when they'd had a little more time. In truth, if this would be his last night alive, Jon was glad to have spent it with her. He would carry this night with him out onto the battlefield, out to what could be his death. If nothing else, he was happy to have just one moment more with her. And so he presses a soft kiss to her temple and pulls her closer. Then he closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep. To sleep and to dream of a future that he would give anything to see. 


	22. Don't leave me behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: "don't leave me behind"

She waits for him on the battlements, a soft snow falling around her. 

It has become _their_ place over time and it feels lonely when she stands up there without him. She arrived first and so as she stood there, overlooking the courtyard of Winterfell, she felt despair brewing in her soul. She doesn't want him to go, she doesn't want him to leave her again. This isn't the same as when he left for Dragonstone all those weeks ago. No... Him going to King's Landing to fight for a queen who deserved no title at all.... It was dangerous. There would be enemies all around him. Enemies who would waste little time in murdering the bastard of Winterfell. She knows and she knows well what happens to the men in her family down South and the last thing she wants is to see that happen to Jon.

Footsteps sound and she turns, head inclined ever so slightly as Jon steps out from the halls of Winterfell. He comes down the length of the battlement towards her, their shoulders brushing when he falls into place at her side. "I couldn't find Arya," is all he says and Sansa can feel the heat of his gaze when he looks her way. 

"No, I imagine you won't," she replies with a sigh, thinking of her headstrong little sister that was surely already well on her way to King's Landing. "She's probably already there." Jon laughs and turns to face her, the sound sending waves of pleasure rushing through her. 

"Aye, she probably is," Jon agrees, still smiling as he tears his gaze from her face for only a moment, to look out along the horizon as if he will see Arya out there somewhere. But he turns back to face Sansa a moment later, intent on committing to memory the way she looked right there in the morning sunlight. Snow is falling, soft flakes that coat her hair, her cloak, and Jon wonders if she can even feel the cold anymore. He can't.

"I don't want you to go." 

The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. A warm flush floods her cheeks but she forces herself to keep her eyes locked with his. "It's not safe for you down there." She goes on, blinking fast, telling herself that she wasn't going to cry. "Stay here... Stay with me." 

Jon wishes he could. There was nothing in this world he wants more than that. To stay there... To stay there with her... It was his only wish. But he knows, as does she, that he must go. He has to go and protect the North and her. He has to go to protect what was precious to him. "I have to go," he says softly, raising up a hand to cup her cheek into his palm, wishing for this moment to never end. "I have to go to keep you safe." He already knew what he would have to do if Daenerys wins, as he knows she will. The dragon queen, despite having a weakened, depleted army, still has two dragons, and that alone is more than enough to conquer King's Landing. He can only hope it is done without needless bloodshed. Daenerys has promised mercy, but he can never be certain of her word. 

"Don't leave me behind..." She whispers, a single tear tracing the curve of her cheek; he swipes his thumb beneath her blue eye, catching the next one before it can fall. Standing there, looking into his eyes, she's filled with a rush of faith in this man she loves so dearly. He smiles a moment before he leans in to kiss her, a kiss quite unlike the one he once pressed to her forehead on these same battlements. In that moment, it matters not who might see them, in that moment all he can think of is bringing her even an ounce of peace. 

"I never could," he murmurs when he draws back a moment later, though he tips his forehead against hers, hand still to her cheek. "I will be home before you know it." His words ignite a fire within in her and she sinks against him, the feel of him wrapping his arms around her giving her all the strength she needs. "I'll come home to you, I swear it." His voice is warm against her skin as he brushes his mouth along her jaw, his hand sliding further up into her hair. Jon is a man of his word and she knows of all people, it was his vow she could believe in. After all this time, he's never let her down. 

So she nods and then she let's him go, because he must go and she had a duty to do, just as he did. He lingers for a moment, his hand in hers, but she is the one to squeeze his one last time and break free. She watches him until he reaches the stairs, turning to give her one last glance over his shoulder before he disappears, descending the stone steps down to the courtyard to meet with the soldiers below. She watches him until he climbs upon his horse and rides forward through the gate, an army at his back. She watches until the lines of men begin to fade from view.

She watches until the cold seeps into her bones, until all she has left is the memory of his arms around her. 


	23. Dornish lemons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: qitn sansa stark is being courted by the dornish prince and the news of it is the only thing that can send jon from his self imprisonment at the wall.

"Did you hear, the Prince of Dorne came all this way just to court the queen!"

From where he stands, Jon turns, listening intently to the conversation he's overhearing. It's two men just come from Wintertown after a scouting mission. Without the wall to defend and no White Walkers either, the Night's Watch had suddenly become more of a security force for the North. They went as their queen bid, who kept close contact, ensuring her people were kept safe from enemies abroad and within their own kingdom. Jon has not left Castle Black in several months, aside from his ventures to the wall, and could only rely on the word of others for information about the happenings in Winterfell. Sansa wrote to him once a month, but it was always the same, a pardon of his crimes against the crown and a summons to her side. 

"I heard he brought a whole crate of lemons for her." The other man replies as they walk by. "They say the queen will marry him before winter ends." They turn the corner, their conversation out of earshot now, but Jon has heard enough. His hands grasp the railing of the battlement, his breath catching in his throat as he thinks about what he's just heard. Married... She's going to get married? Jon supposes he can't blame her if she is, she's a queen now and it's her duty to provide her kingdom with heirs. Once, he had thought he would be the one to give her those heirs... No, he shakes his head, forcing away the thought. He had given all of that up when he killed Daenerys Targaryen. He had killed a queen to save his family, to save Sansa, and he would gladly do it again if need be. But he could not help but to feel a pang of remorse, if only for being unable to remain with her. The selfish part of him wanted nothing more than to be with her. 

They lived so close and yet so very far. 

Jon sighs and turns, walking down the battlements and down to the courtyard, joining Tormund who had come through the gate just a moment before. No matter what he wanted, it could not be, not anymore. He had a new life and so did she.

[ x x x ]

By the time she's settled into her chambers for the night, Sansa is exhausted. 

Between dodging the flirtations of the over zealous Dornish prince and her queenly duties, she finds no time for herself but a few spare hours at night when she sleeps. Even there the prince would bother her, if it weren't for Brienne's stone faced gaze and Shae's quick, narrowed eyes. Sansa sighs as she sinks onto her bed, fully dressed, throwing herself backwards over the fur coverlet. She had unpinned her hair and it cascaded over the other edge of the bed, so long that she could feel its ends trailing the floor; she makes a mental note to ask Shae to cut some length from it. 

There comes a knock to her door and it opens. "You are quite unseemly, my lady," Shae laughs as she approaches the young queen on her bed. Sansa remains as she is, listening to Shae as she laid out a fresh nightgown. She sits up only when Shae leans over her on the bed, peering down into her sullen face like a mother might her child. "You could just send him away, you know." She knows her lady craves the attention of another man entirely, one that she has not seen in several months now. One that's not even bothered to write to her once, though Sansa sent him a pardon each new month. She sits down on the edge of the queen's bed as the redhead finally sits herself up, her eyes soft and her mouth downturned as she slowly shakes her head. 

"It's not so easy, Shae." Is all she can say as she folds her hands in her lap. She was queen now and part of her duty was to provide stability to the realm through marriage. And of course to bear children that would inherit her throne and their father's, too. "I'm the queen. I have to marry someone." 

Shae sighs, reaching out to gently touch her queen's hands, the touch forcing the young woman to look up in surprise. "You have been married twice against your will. Men have used you in ways no woman should ever be used... Queen or not, don't you think you should finally marry for love?" Sansa's eyes widen but she doesn't respond, rather she falls back into the privacy of her own mind, where deep down she does truly wish to marry for love. But the one she loved... He'd not spoken to her since that day on the docks in King's Landing. She had wrote him monthly, pardoning him for his supposed crimes, and yet he'd still yet to return home. He had not even bothered to write her back all these months. And so what else was she to do?

But even as she lay awake in bed long after Shae had left, she can't help but to think about what she had said. Queen or not... Don't you think you should marry for love? She had once thought no man would ever love her beyond her title and Jon had proven her wrong. He had loved her when she was no more than a battered girl running away from a husband that had used and abused her. He had loved her when she had gone behind his back and sought help from a man neither of them trusted. He had loved her enough to go to war and win... Had loved her enough to slay a queen, his own kin, just to ensure she was safe. Jon was the only man who would ever love her for more than just her title, she knew that well. 

And so... Perhaps that meant a life of loneliness. It was her punishment for her hand in Jon's downfall. They both would live a life atoning for what they had done, though some might say they had done nothing wrong. She would marry a man she didn't love to protect her kingdom and she would have children to come after her. And those children she would never force to marry unless they loved. Her children would be happy... Happier than she would ever be. 

[ x x x ]

"Are you going to mope for much longer?" 

Jon looks from his desk, scattered with scrolls he's never sent, with words he'll never say. "Just go to her." Tormund says from his place in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest as he looks at him. "You've been sitting around brooding more than ever all because you overheard some half grown kids talking about her getting married. Go on then, go stop her." 

He sighs, shaking his head before he lowers his gaze. "I can't. You know that. I'm-"

"Banished? I see seven pardons sitting right there." Tormund says as he approaches Jon's desk, shaking his own head. "She wants you and you're just gonna let some foreign dick come and sweep her off her feet, little crow?" Jon looks up again at the sound of his old nickname. "Go to her," he says again, this time with a nod. "And tell the big woman I said hello, when you do." His smirk is as wild as his hair and Jon slowly nods, as if this had been the answer all along. 

At the very least, he would go to her and tell her the truth. He would not let her slip away so easily. 

[ x x x ]

The queen's laughter floats along from the high table, where she sits beside the Dornish prince. Quentyn Martell is a handsome man, Sansa cannot deny that, and he is quick witted enough to keep her attention. But where Jon was soft edges, this man was sharp. Where Jon had been gentle, he was tough. The Dornish prince was nice enough she supposed, and he would never mistreat her, but he had already made several comments on taking her away to Dorne. And that she would never do. Her place was in the North, no matter what part of the world her husband came from. 

"How are your lemoncakes, my queen?" Quentyn asks, gesturing down at the plate of cakes before them. He had sent her crates of lemons for the last several months, the first one arriving mere days after her departure from King's Landing. Along with that first crate, he had sent a letter, one which praised her beauty and her ferocity, _quality traits for a woman and a queen_, he had written. Sansa had rolled her eyes but wrote back, thanking him for his generosity, and the next thing she had known was his talk of marriage and visit to Winterfell. 

"They're wonderful," she smiles for him, leaning into his space ever so slightly, sapphire eyes darkening. "Thank you again for bringing them. I had not thought I'd taste a lemon again, once winter came." 

Quentyn grins back at her, meeting her gaze for a long moment before he speaks. "Walk with me, won't you?" She glances out towards the room full of people and wonders what they might think seeing her leave to be alone with the Dornish prince. Biting her lower lip, she turns back to him and nods, allowing him to take her hand and help her onto her feet. With her arm in his, they walk out of the back door that leads to a long corridor, where he steers her further down until they reach the end, only able to go back the way they had come or go into one of the rooms within the back hall. "I am mad for you," he whispers suddenly, his hands sliding into her hair, uncaring of the pins he knocked loose. "You have bewitched me." The force of his touch pushes her back against the wall and Sansa feels her breath catch, her heart hammering hard within her chest. All she can think is of him, of Jon, wondering why her life had come to this yet again. 

His mouth is on hers before she can speak and Sansa freezes- she's a girl again, thrust into a dirty world of men and monsters. Her mind is spinning as she feels his tongue slip into her mouth, one of his hands still tangled in her hair, the other at her waist. It takes only another moment before she finds herself again, pushing him away from her with a shove harder than she intended. "We should go back-" 

"We won't be missed," Quentyn replies, leaning in to kiss her again, mistaking her fear of him for fear of being caught. 

It is then that they both hear the clearing of a throat and Sansa nearly cries when she sees Brienne standing there. "Your grace," her sworn sword says as she comes to stand before them, her presence forcing Quentyn to release her from his grasp. "Shall I escort you back to your rooms?" She asks, her stormy eyes never once straying from the Dornish prince's face, who at least as enough tact to look shamed by their discovery. Sansa nods and slips away, following after Brienne at close proximity until they reach her rooms. "Are you alright?" Brienne questions the moment the door has closed and they're alone. 

Sansa swallows and nods. 

Mumbling something about killing the man, Brienne turns away when the door opens again and Shae comes inside. "I won't be far," Brienne says before stepping out of the room, where sure enough she stands outside as guard, as she had once done when her queen was only a frightened girl first saved from the hound Ramsay Bolton. 

Noting her queen's pale face and shaking hands, Shae soothes her softly as she unlaces her gown, replacing it with a soft white nightgown. She sits her down and brushes her red hair until it shines and then plaits it, one long braid that hangs down her back to her waist. "There was a rider at the gate this evening." Shae says after a few minutes of silence, turning the queen's attention away from yet another man's wandering hands. "He asked to speak to you." Shae goes on as she slips her warm robe over her shoulders and presses a goblet of wine into her hands. 

"A rider?" Sansa asks, her evening suddenly forgotten as her heart did a backwards flip. She didn't dare believe it to be him. 

"I can fetch him, if you like, but I thought you might want to wait until morning." Shae replies, her tone quite telling. Suddenly, Sansa's heart is racing, but quite unlike how it had been earlier. Sansa only has to think on it for a moment before she nods, gulping down a sip of wine to calm her nerves as Shae leaves the room. Rising up from her chair, she begins to pace before the fire, wringing her hands as she goes. She stops to take another drink from her discarded goblet when Shae knocks on the door. 

"Come in," she calls in a tone that sounds calmer than she feels inside. 

The door opens and Jon steps into the room, looking tired yet wild; his dark eyes find hers and Sansa blinks, unable to find her voice now that he stands before her. "Sansa..." Her name upon his lips is sweeter than anything she's ever heard in all her life and she can't stop the tears that fill her eyes. 

It takes only a moment for them to rush into each other's arms; Jon breathes her in and she still smells of rose water, as she always had. She buries her face into his warm neck, the feel of his arms around her more calming than anything else ever could be. 

[ x x x ]

They stay up for hours, simply talking. 

Besides the last seven months, there was all the time before to talk about. They talk about Daenerys, they talk about why he had never told her the truth of what he'd been trying to do. They talk about Theon and how much Sansa misses him still. They talk of Arya and how Lord Gendry Baratheon had left his castle in the keep of a lord and disappeared with her. They talk until Sansa is certain she can talk no longer. At least until...

"Are you really going to marry him?"

Sansa looks up, surprised that he's asked such a thing of her. "I don't know," she says defiantly, though she doesn't mean to sound so harsh. 

"Don't." 

His single word is a plea and Sansa blinks, staring back at him as if he's grown another head. She wants to be happy that he's upset by her marriage prospect, but she's also angry. "You don't get to decide that," she says sharply, sapphire eyes flashing in the firelight. The wine has given her fangs. "You rode North to the wall and haven't so much as thought of me until you heard I might marry?" She shakes her head, rising to her feet. "Now you run back to me after nearly a year without a word and think you can tell me what to do?" 

"Not thought of you?" He asks incredulously, jumping to his own feet. He knows she's angry and he doesn't blame her. But he needs her to know. Even if this goes nowhere, even if she banishes him back to the wall forever, he needs her to know. "I've thought of you everyday!" His voice rises as he throws out a hand, his dark eyes rising to meet hers. "How could I come back and face you after what I have done?" How could she say such a thing to him? She didn't understand, he had committed a crime and deserved to be punished for it. It mattered not the reason why he had done it. He had murdered the queen and deserved the punishment given to him. But that didn't lessen how he felt about her. 

"You could have written me!" She explodes, her entire frame shaking with the emotions running rampant through her body. "You could have come home when I sent any one of those letters!" Tears are coursing down her cheeks and there's little she can do to stop them. "I have waited all this time for you, alone! You have been at the wall with Tormund and your brothers- Arya sailing west with Gendry! Bran in King's Landing. And I have been alone here all this time!" She chokes on a sob and turns away, unable to face him now as tears stream down her face. 

Jon freezes, his anger rushing out of him as soon as she spoke. 

He had not thought about her and her loneliness within the walls of Winterfell. He had thought instead of the lords and ladies around her, of Brienne at her side, and all of the North showing love for her as their queen. He had not thought of what it must have felt like to be utterly alone, with no family... Truly, she was alone. And he had so selfishly ignored her, thinking it was he who deserved to be alone, not thinking about what his silence had done to her. Jon lets out a breath and then reaches for her, drawing her into his arms without another word. She fights against him for only a moment, but then yields to his embrace as she begins to cry gutwrenching sobs that truly break his heart. "I'm sorry," is all he can whisper, over and over again, until his voice goes hoarse. 

When her tears begin to fade a short while later, she pulls back from him, though his arms remain wrapped around her waist. "I don't want to marry him," she admits softly, her cheeks growing warm with her admission. "I want to marry for love." Jon leans his forehead down, his mouth hovering over her own. He's so close she can feel the curve of his lips when he smiles. "But the man I love isn't free." 

"He could be," Jon whispers, his grip pulling her back in. She can't help but to compare how it felt being in his arms than it had in the Quentyn's; where one had frightened her, the other calmed her. She sinks into his embrace, nuzzling the warm expanse of his neck as she slung her arms around his waist. "I am yours to command, my queen." His words send chills down her spine and Sansa tightens her grip on his body as she raises her face back to look him in the eyes. 

"Stay with me," she says softly. 

When Jon kisses her a moment later, it is a soft kiss, a kiss full of every unspoken thing between them. His hands raise to her face and one cups her cheek while the other slides into her hair, digits tangling into her silky red strands. "I am yours, heart and soul." He murmurs when he draws back a moment later, staring into those eyes he could lose himself in. Her lips curve and she is the one who kisses him then, a deep kiss that steals the very breath from his lungs, a kiss that tells him everything she had yet to say. 


	24. Doting Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: jon doting on a pregnant sansa

"Still working, my sweet?" 

The voice draws Sansa from the scrolls littering her desk and she smiles when she looks up, seeing Jon standing there in her door. "The queen's job never ends," she replies before looking back down at the scroll from King's Landing that had only come that day. She knows its late- the candle on her desk is nearly a puddle of wax now, so many hours it had been since she lit it. 

She hears the sound of his footsteps, she'd have known them even among a crowd, and it's only a moment later that he's behind her, wrapping her up into his warm embrace. "You work too much," he breathes into her ear as his hands wander around to rest upon the great swell that had become her belly. In the last few weeks, she had truly begun to fill out as she moved into the seventh month of her pregnancy. "See, even the babe wishes you would come to bed," he murmurs as their child moves beneath his palms, a reminder of the strength that their little one held. Sansa sighs as she leans back against him, his body warm and welcoming, knowing that he was probably right. "Whatever it is Bran has said can wait until the morning." Jon softly encourages her to rise up from where she sits and finally she nods. 

Jon offers her his hand as she pushes back from the desk, helping her up from the chair though she normally might have protested against his help. As she advanced further into her pregnancy, she has longed to retain a sense of independence, even from Jon. She was pregnant, not helpless, though some would treat her as such. It was only Jon that she would allow moments such as these. Besides... Part of her truly loved them. They were little reminders of just how much Jon loved her and their child. 

Together they left her solar and strolled down the darkened corridors towards their own, once called the Lord's chambers they were now called the queen's rooms. Once in the room, Jon helped her from her gown and into a clean nightgown that had been laid out by Shae earlier in the night. It was only then that he led her into their bed, drawing her down beside him so he could place his cheek to her belly, stroking it as he softly murmured to the babe within, a nightly occurance since the night she had told him she was with child. Sansa smiles as she threads her fingers through his dark curls, wondering if their child would have these very same curls. 

It doesn't take long before Jon has drifted off, his head still yet pressed against her swollen stomach, his hand entwined with hers. These are the moments she knew they had lived to see come to life. These are the moments they had been born to live. 


	25. Drinking game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: jon and sansa play a drinking game.

"Another one, then." 

Jon laughs as he tilts back the mug, sucking down yet another shot of ale at her insistence. "My turn." He says when he's slammed the mug down on the table, looking across the way at her. She sat with her back to the hearth and so the firelight framed her in the most enticing of ways- reminding Jon that yet again, he could not have her. There was little else he wanted in life than to see her smile, to feel the soft touch of her hand against him. Just to hear her say his name was almost enough. And there in the privacy of his rooms, both drinking, both happy, Jon could almost bring himself to reach for her. He could almost say to hell with propriety and all else. There was nothing else he wanted in this life beyond her. And yet... He can't do it. Not to her. Not after all she has been through... No matter how strongly he might feel, Jon knows he would never do anything at all to upset her. 

It's her turn to laugh, a silky sound that filters through his thoughts, bringing him back to the moment. She brings her own goblet to her lips and drinks a long steady sip that makes her cough, her cheeks two blooms of color as she swallows the last of it. "You're supposed to ask me a question first," she reminds, though she's already taken her sip. "Go on, ask me." They're playing a game- one asks the other a question and they can answer the question or take a sip of their drink. She had only just asked him a question about the time someone had broken her favorite porcelain doll as a child... Jon had drank rather than answer, telling her all she needed to know. "Give me a good one," she prompts with a wag of her finger, sapphire eyes sparkling in the firelight that surrounds her. She is like a fire goddess, something bright and untouchable. 

"Have you ever thought about kissing me?" 

The question falls from his lips before he can stop it; the alcohol has given him a sense of confidence he normally does not feel. Sansa blinks- she's drunk, but she knows what he's just asked her. For a moment, silence descends and Jon wishes he could take back the words he's just said. But, to his surprise, she sets down her goblet and rises to her feet. It takes her only a moment to come around the table and she's standing before him then. She leans over him, one hand sliding into place against the curve of his jaw, his stubble rough against the soft skin of her palm. Jon has no time to think before she's captured his mouth with hers, her lips as soft as he's always imagined them to be. His hand comes up to touch her cheek, pulling her deeper into the kiss that seems like it might last for the rest of eternity. But then she's pulling back, her blue eyes sparkling, cheeks red from a whole lot more than just the alcohol. "Yes," is all she whispers before she moves as if she means to return to her chair, but Jon can't let her go. Not yet. 

He pulls her down onto his lap, hands sliding into her hair as his mouth hovered so close to hers that he can feel when they curve with a smile. "Your turn," he says softly, heart beat racing when she laughs. 

"Have you ever thought of kissing_ me?_" She asks, breath warm against his skin; she smells of ale and rose water. Jon does not reach for his glass again, but rather allows her red hair to slip through his fingers, uncaring of the pins he's knocked loose. There's only one answer he can give, one that requires no words at all. 

He kisses her, giving the only answer that made any sense at all. 


	26. Jon's evening ritual.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon visits sansa at night.

Improper as it might have been, Jon's evening ritual involved him visiting her chamber before bed. 

It had begun back at Castle Black, that very first night she had found him. Every night he would find himself at her door, sometimes to peak in and find her already asleep, other nights he would sit with her beside the fire all night long just to keep her company from the dark. If it wasn't him, it was Ghost, always curled up around her ankles or even wedged into place beside her in bed, her arm usually draped over his shaggy body. He's seen her through tears and fears and nightmares. He's held her close as she's cried and he's kept his distance when she was too afraid of even his soft touch. He's watched her breakdown and he's watched her upend tables. He's watched her smile and felt her the touch of her hand when she noticed he needed comfort, too. Together they had begun this new life forged by war and violence. 

Now they were back at Winterfell, back where they both belonged, though he had yet to free himself from this routine. Part of him never wanted it to end, in truth, and that same part of him wondered if he was really just doing this for her. Maybe it was partly for himself, too. No, he knew it was.

On this particular night, it's late when he stops by her door. It's so late the torches in the corridor burn low, though this does not stop him from reaching for the knob. He twists it and quietly pushes the door open, intent on seeing her asleep in her bed and heading to his own for a few short hours of rest until the morning call. Instead, he finds her awake and pacing the floor, her nightgown trailing the rushes with her every step. The moment she hears the door open, she's turning, ghostly pale with eyes full of panic. She looks right at him but Jon is certain she does not see him. "Sansa..." He steps into the room, his voice low, his hands torn between lingering at his side or reaching out for her. "Are you alright?" She looks like a rabbit that knows it's about to get caught. 

Sansa blinks, focusing on the sound of Jon's voice as he steps closer to where she stands in the center of the room. The fire has nearly burned out, casting the room into eeire shadow and cold, but she doesn't feel the cold. She's not felt the cold in months. She's numb... Numb... "Sansa...." She snaps back to reality with the touch of a hand; it's Jon, of course it's Jon. He peers into her eyes with his Stark colored ones and she's reminded so much of Arya that it hurts to breathe. "Come... Sit down..." He leads her towards her bed, which she had abandoned hours ago, gently guiding her until she's sitting upon it's edge. It's only then that he reaches for her robe, draping it over her shaking shoulders. "Was it a dream?"

She wishes it had just been a dream.

In truth, she's not certain how to tell him about what she feels anymore. Once, she had told herself she was stronger within the walls of Winterfell. She was the blood of the North, after all, she should have been stronger there. But... She's weak. She's tired and she's weak. Even these rooms felt tainted by what had happened to her beneath Ramsay Bolton's cruel hands and though she gave him what he deserved, she's still haunted by ghosts. Ghosts of a life she wishes she could forget. 

And because she can't find the words, she merely nods, reaching for his hand. She needs his touch, she needs his warmth. "Stay..." Is all she can whisper, looking up so she might lock eyes with him. Jon says nothing but he nods, swallowing hard, his breath trapped in his throat. He guides her back until he can pull the furs over her, but even then when she's laying against her pillow, he holds fast to her hand. Silence descends until the only noise in the room is the soft sound of her breathing, even then he holds onto her hand. He knows she's asleep when her hand goes slack in his, but still yet he holds on.

She needed him and he would not fail her, even in something like this. 


	27. Jonsa discovers Gendrya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon & sansa discover arya & gendry together all while looking for a spot of their own.

"Come on..." His whisper elicits a giggle from her lips as she gives him her hand, allowing him to tug her along the dark, empty corridor. It's late and they've both been drinking- as had the entire North, it seemed. Those who remained alive, at least. For just a few short hours, they could pretend that life was well- that another war did not yet loom overhead. Tomorrow they would go back to mourning their losses, tomorrow they would plan for what was to come. But tonight... Tonight they would just live. 

And so that was how they found themselves where they were now, rushing through the dark corridors to find a room where they might not be found. A room where for one single night, they could be together without fear of discovery, without fear of what the world would say. It was true, now they knew the truth of Jon's parentage, the sibling ties that kept them apart all these months were finally gone... But not everyone knew the truth. And they certainly didn't want to call anymore attention to their close bond than they already had. 

"In here," Jon is saying then, pushing open a door to a room that surely is unused, a room that he's certain has been empty since before even they had left Winterfell so many years ago. The moment the door opens, he pulls her along inside, but at once they realize they aren't alone in the room.

"Arya!" Sansa cries with a laugh, truly not that surprised to find her little sister in the center of the room, locked into a tight embrace with the newly titled Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storms End. The two break their kiss, though quite reluctantly it seems, both turning to face the new pair that had come into the room. Gendry looked embarrassed to have been discovered and he doesn't look into Sansa's face, though Arya meets her gaze without fear or hesitation. "What are you two doing?" The answer is obvious but the alcohol has riddled her brain nearly useless, it seems. 

"I might ask you the same thing." Arya is smirking, she can't help it. Neither she or Gendry are drunk and she can tell both Jon and Sansa are. "Sneaking around Winterfell, are you?" Arya chuckles, reaching out to touch Gendry's arm. "Find your own room," she says before drawing him back to her, resuming the kiss they'd once been sharing.

Laughing, it takes them only a moment to escape the room, making their way further down the hall until they stumble into another room, an unused servant's room that will serve it's purpose well. "Did you know?" Jon asks before Sansa kisses him, her hands on either side of his face, fingers sliding into his wild curls. "About her and Gendry?" He asks when she pulls back a moment later, hands now pulling on the laces of his jerkin, shedding the leather layer and tossing it aside. Jon knows he's been somewhat preoccupied with other things, but surely he'd have noticed Arya and Gendry together? Surely?

"Yes," Sansa breathes as she helps him pull his shirt over his head, turning so he could unlace her gown. "I saw them once," she adds as he pulls her into him, pressing red hot kisses across her neck as her gown slips from her frame. He turns her back around then, kissing her deeply, and suddenly every other thought but her is gone from his mind. 

Tomorrow he will worry about everything else. 


	28. Freckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: jon admiring sansa's freckles.

In the firelight, she's like a dream come to life. 

It reflects off her fire kissed hair, which spills over the side of the bed, a waterfall of color richer than any sunset. In the golden glow of the fire, she is like a goddess, her entire body dusted with the lightest touch of gold flecks. He recalls from childhood when she would scrub them furiously with milk, when she would try to hide each and every freckle from view. He can't keep himself from running his hands along the length of her slim frame, fingers grazing her every inch until they come to a rest at her hips. There was little else he wanted to do besides kiss every freckle upon her ivory skin. "Mmm..." She wakes from her light slumber, body shifting beneath his touch. "I thought you said you were tired?" Her voice is groggy and she doesn't lift even an eyelid to look at him, though her lips curve with the smallest of smiles. 

"I was only admiring your freckles." He says when his mouth is on her throat, brushing the most tender of kisses against her soft skin. A moment later, Jon can feel her palm running the length of his spine, the other sliding into his wild curls, keeping his face against the curve of her neck and shoulder. 

When she loosens her grip upon him, he raises himself up so he might look down at her there in his bed. Still yet bathed in the light of the fire, she's like something other worldly, something so perfect that he dares not believe she is real. There are no words to describe the depth of his feelings for her, this woman he does not deserve and yet somehow still holds each and every night. Jon leans in and captures her mouth with his, a long, lingering kiss that fills her to the brim with warmth. "I love you," he murmurs when he breaks the kiss, though his mouth presses tiny kisses against her jaw line, further down until his mouth caresses her collarbone, one hand on her hip, the other on a breast. He kisses from her collarbone to her left shoulder, lips sweeping over every single scar, every single freckle, the feel of her beneath him better than anything else. 

  
He would stay there forever, if she'd allow it. And something told him, she would. 


	29. Generations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: sansa's great great great (continue that to modern day lol) granddaughter visits winterfell & sees her portrait.

Looking at the portrait was like looking into a mirror.

The same clear blue eyes, the same long red hair, even the ivory painted skin was the same shade as hers. Beneath the portrait was a small gold plaque that read: _Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North; the red wolf, the queen that never bent. _

“Beautiful wasn’t she?”

At the sound of the voice she turns and smiles when she sees her father. “Yes. Who was she?” She turns back to face the painting as her father comes up to stand beside her, also staring into the portrait, noting the striking similarities between it and his teenage daughter. Down the hall, his other two children stand with their mother, the younger of the two another daughter with violet-blue eyes and long silvery hair, proof of the lineage she comes from. His son, the middle child, has the same unruly dark hair and solemn gray eyes that he knows he himself holds. The Stark genes are strong, even generations later. The Targaryen ones too, though the name has gone away with history, the genes still shine through every so often. It's true, his family looks quite mismatched on the outside, but they are a family from a name that once ruled all of Westeros. 

“Your great, great, great, great grandmother," he replies with a grin down at his oldest child, her clear blue eyes shining as they gaze at the portrait. "The first Queen in the North, she married her cousin Jon Snow, the true born son of Rhaegar Targaryen." Of course, all of his children knew the family story well, though he'd hesitated to bring them here to the birthplace of their family. It had been many years since anyone at all occupied Winterfell, though the home was theirs to live in if they wanted. He wanted his children to grow up to live a normal life- the North remained it's own, independent nation, ruled by a new generation born from the children of the marriage of this woman who's portrait they gazed upon. It was her fight for the North that led it to be the prosperous place that it was today. 

"So it wasn't just a story?" His daughter asks, turning to glance at him with that skeptical look only a teenager could convey. "It was all real?" The story of this queen was a long time bedside story from her father, a story and nothing more... Or so she had always believed. The story of this Sansa Stark had always been her favorite as a child, but she had never thought much of it to be true. Certainly she had existed, history told her as much, but she never had believed everything her father had told her to be truth. "Wow," she breathes when her father nods with a grin, turning back to once again look into those blue eyes, amazed that someone from so long ago could look so very much like herself. 

"A true story," he says as he slings his arm around her shoulders, guiding her down the long hall, where portrait after portrait hangs in the hall, all of the various kings and queens the North has had. They stop finally at the last one, of their most current king, a man with solemn Stark eyes and a touch of the Targaryen colored hair, a man they called uncle when they saw him privately. All these years, the North had known no king or queen that was not named Stark, just as their first queen had vowed. 


	30. Ghost's Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: jonsa spending some quality time with ghost.

"Your wolf smells."

Jon looks up from where he sits at his desk, chuckling at the sight of Sansa there in his doorway, with Ghost sitting at her feet. "I thought he was your wolf." Jon teases though when he and Ghost meet gazes, the wolf is bounding across the room to ask for pats from his master. "Ah, you do still know who I am." He laughs as he runs his hand down the massive head, down his spine. And sure enough, now that the wolf has come into close proximity, he can smell the wolf's sour stench. "Ugh, you're right," Jon rises up from the chair as Sansa steps into the center of the room, Ghost moving back to circle where she stands. Jon can't help but to appreciate the sight of them together- it's been nearly two years since she had shown up at his door in Castle Black and ever since that day, Ghost had become nearly glued to her side. The white wolf that had once answered to no one but him was her shadow, her protector, her guardian. "It is quite warm today, shall we bathe him?" 

Sansa grins, reaching down to touch the wolf's head as he settles down next to her. "I think it is a must," she replies with a laugh. Together, she and Jon, with Ghost racing ahead of them, they walk through the corridors down to the double doors out into Winterfell's courtyard. 

Spring had finally come, only a few months before. The long winter had lasted all these years, the curse perhaps broken by the death of the Night King. Though, Sansa supposes she would always live her life by her father's old words of_ Winter is coming_. Who knew when it would come again. But, for now, she was happy to see the warm sun, to shed her fur layers and step into the yard in just a gown of gray and black. Upstairs in her room, she had gowns of pale blues and greens in the making, the first gowns of color she would wear since her days in King's Landing so very long ago. She was not to be a queen of ice and snow, but a queen of spring returned. 

They gather the supplies the need and make their way down the river, finally warmed enough to put their hands in and use to wash the wolf. There was no tub large enough for Ghost's size, after all. "Here, Ghost!" Jon calls out to the beast, who has run off through the trees, chasing after leaves flying in the wind. Sansa laughs as the wolf rushes by them, dancing around where they stand, eager for love and pets from the two humans he loved so very much. "In with you, then," Jon says as he guides the wolf towards the river water, thinking to himself how much easier this would have been with a collar and leash. The wolf is prancing happily, going anywhere but the river where his master wanted. "Ghost!"

But then it's Sansa who's gentle touch guides the wolf into the water, her soft voice encouraging the energetic wolf to sit down in the shallow edge of the river. "Good boy!" She says cheerfully, her smile as bright as the spring sun that shines down upon them. "Here you go," she continues softly talking to the wolf as she dumps a pitcher of water over his head and she laughs when the wolf immediately shakes, spraying her and Jon both with droplets of water. Beside her, Jon can only watch in amazement as she keeps the wolf sitting there long enough so she can pour soap onto the wolf's back, reaching out to begin rubbing it into his white fur.

Before long, the dingy fur has become stark white again, and the wolf's once sour smell has faded to something sweet, much like the soap used to clean him. "There you go," Jon says, his every intention to praise the wolf for being so well behaved. But then, the wolf grows excited over the sight of perhaps a bird or something else, and he dashes off between them, his huge size knocking Jon off balance. Before he can catch himself, Jon stumbles and he lands in the river where Ghost had just sat. 

It only takes a moment for Sansa to begin laughing at his expense, doubled over in her amusement of his fall. "You might laugh now..." Jon mumbles as he sits up, soaked through to his very skin, his brown eyes flashing mischievously in the sunlight. That's when he takes hold on Sansa's hand and gives a tug. She falls into the river against him, his body shielding her from the hard ground beneath the water. She sputters and pulls back, her gown soaked, even her hair dripping wet as she rises up from the water, eyeing him with a look torn between annoyance and mirth. 

She opens her mouth to speak but Jon's laugh silences her; she turns, following his line of sight to just behind her. At once she heaves a sigh, shaking her head as Ghost comes through the clearing, his once clean fur now dirtied with mud from the godswood. "So much for that," Sansa chuckles, opening her arms a moment later to the wolf who rushes into her embrace, knocking her back into the river as he licks excitedly at her face. She supposes that even if things went wrong, she wouldn't have changed this day for anything. 


	31. Godswood Marriage... Thanks to Arya.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: post finale, arya decides her family's happiness is most important.

"Arya, please, what is this about?"

Sansa's frustrated sounding tones only brought a quick grin to her younger sister's face as she turned to look over her shoulder at her. "You'll see in a moment," is all Arya says before she turns back around and continues on. Sansa can only sigh, deciding there's little else she can do but follow Arya on into the godswood. 

They had only just returned North- the moment they had set foot into Winterfell, Arya had taken her by the hand and begun to drag her towards the godswood. All Sansa had wanted to do was settle into her chambers (perhaps forever) and cope with what life would soon be like for her. In a matter of hours, she had lost her family, her pack. She was returning home but knowing Arya was leaving her soon, that she was without Bran, without _Jon_, it didn't feel right. Perhaps sensing her misery, Arya had returned North with her, though out on the docks when they had said their goodbyes to Jon, she had said she wouldn't. At least she had her, if only for a short time. 

But now as they step further into the godswood, Sansa shivers, a light dusting of snow beginning to fall from the gray skies above them. "Arya, really!" Sansa groans, truly set on turning back and heading inside where at least she might get warm. After all that had happened, after all she had witnessed... All she wanted was to rest. 

Rather than speak, Arya slowed to a stop and turned around to face her older sister. Sansa's cheeks were two blooms of color, her blue eyes full of bitterness. Arya hopes that these next few moments will remove such a look from her eyes forever. "Sansa... Just keep going." Arya gives her sister a nod when the redhead arches a brow in silent surprise. After a quick staredown, Sansa finally sighs and takes a few steps forward, Arya turning around to face that direction when she hears Sansa's sharp intake of breath. 

Sansa cannot believe her eyes. 

Jon stands there beneath the heart tree, his back to her, his black cloak fluttering in the winter wind. As if he senses her gaze, he turns around then and their eyes meet, a smile tugging on his lips. "But how..." Sansa whispers as she comes to stand just before him, unable to take her eyes from his face, lest she look away and he vanishes from her sight. Jon lets out a little chuckle and raises his hand, pointing to just over her shoulder where Arya has come to stand. Sansa turns around to face her younger sister, blue eyes widening. "Arya? You did this?" She asks through trembling lips, torn between crying and laughing, wanting little else but to fling her arms around the other girl. "But how?" She asks for a second time, shaking her head as an incredulous laugh escapes her. None of this makes any sense. 

"You didn't think I was going to let Jon rot at the wall, did you?" Ayra asks with a grin, coming a step closer to the pair. "Besides..." She pauses, head tilting, her dark Stark colored eyes falling upon Sansa's Tully blue. "Jon belongs here at Winterfell... With you." Though they had tried to hide it from the world, Arya had seen what was between them weeks ago. A smile flashes on Sansa's lips and she turns back to Jon then, in his arms in an instant. "That's not all," Arya clears her throat, grabbing their attention yet again, this time with another surprise up her sleeve that even Jon didn't know about. She turns slightly, looking out behind here to where sure enough, just on time, Samwell Tarly is making his way down to where they stand. "You two deserve to be happy." Arya says by way of explanation when she turns back to face them, a smile curving on her lips as Sam comes to stand beside the couple. "Be happy." 

Turning to look at Jon, their eyes meet and Sansa feels her heart skip a beat. This is all she's wanted, she realizes, for a lot longer than she's willing to admit. For all this time since she found him at Castle Black, this was building, growing. Stone by stone, she thinks, recalling the words her mother had once said about the love she and her father had built together. This thing with Jon... Call it love, call it romance, whatever it was had been built slowly in their time together. It was because of Jon that she had learned to trust again, to love again. In Jon she had found hope, she had found faith, she had found her home. Jon smiles and right then, right there she knows what she's known all along: they were always meant to find this moment. 

And so they touch hands and there beneath the canopy of trees, they marry. 


	32. He knows she loves him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: he knows she loves him, from a prompt list.

He knows she loves him. 

He also knows he doesn't deserve her love. He deserves nothing but contempt from her, after how he's treated her. Of all the things he's done in his life that he's not proud of, disappointing Sansa is the worst of them all. He can barely look at her in her face now, he's so truly shamed for what he's done. And he knows she's angry with him, as she deserves to be. He wishes she would scream at him, fight with him, tell him the truth of how she feels inside. But she's not like that, not Sansa. Instead she remains cold, distant, but her sapphire stare can burn him from even across a room. 

She loves him, he knows, but she must surely hate him, too. Her contempt is all he deserves, in truth, and he only wishes to hear her say it. Perhaps then he might be absolved of some of the guilt, some of the pain. If she might throw her fists against him, if she might scream until she's hoarse... Perhaps then he might feel better. But knowing she loves him... Despite what he's done... He is undeserving. He is unworthy. 

But more than anything... Jon knows that he loves her. 

She is is only thought, his only dream. When his heart began to beat again that day so long ago in Castle Black, it was for her. There was no other way to explain how she had come to him only hours after his revival. Sansa had given his life new meaning, she had become his reason to wake every single morning. He had gone to war for her, would have died again for her, he would have done anything it took to keep her safe. And even now, he still yet feels the same. He had thought bringing the Targaryen queen home would mean safety for Sansa, safety for the North. But he had misjudged the dragon queen's character and now he fears for Sansa's life more than he had when the Night King had been their only enemy. 

He wishes he could explain it all to her- why he brought Daenerys to their home, why he kept her in the dark about every single choice he's made. He wishes he could hold her in his arms as he'd done the night before he'd left for Dragonstone. He wishes just to see her blue eyes staring back at him. But it's late into the night and he knows she sleeps soundly in the rooms just down the hall from his own. 

Thinking perhaps it was best to turn in for the night, Jon strips from his boots and layers until he stands in just his breeches and untucked shirt, one stitched with Sansa's own hands. It's only then that there comes a knock on his door- a soft, timid knock that makes his heart skip a beat. He knows before he opens it who stands there in his doorway. "Sansa..." Her name is soft upon his lips and she's stepping into the room without a word. Before the door has time to swing closed, she's in his arms. 

He knows she loves him and as his lips find hers, she knows he loves her, too. 


	33. No one hurts me like you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: no one hurts me like you do, from a prompt list.

She's on fire, anger surging through her limbs, seeping into her bones.

This is my curse, she thinks with a shake of her head, a strained sort of laugh falling from her rosy lips. This is my curse for loving a man I cannot have. She should have known better all those weeks ago when they met in this very chamber the night before he left her for Dragonstone. Jon reaches out a hand as if he means to touch her, but she steps back, just out of his reach. She had heard the rumors about the young dragon queen, Daenerys Targaryen, that she was beautiful and wild and powerful. The unburnt queen with three dragons she hatched from a funeral pyre. Sansa knew the rumors and meeting the queen face to face had confirmed what she should have known all along; she simply could not compete. Not with a woman such as Daenerys Targaryen. Not when she was a damaged woman, the shell of a girl she used to be. Once, Jon had looked at her as if she were the stars hanging in the sky, now he barely glanced at her. _This is my curse,_ she thinks again, for _loving my own brother. _

She's angry with herself more than anything, her pride wounded, her heart broken. Anger for falling for Jon's soft touch that night, anger for allowing herself to believe in a man again. And she's angry with Jon for breaking that faith she had in him, for making her see the truth that was probably always there in the back of her mind. This would serve as a constant reminder of what a man could do when presented with a pretty woman. 

"Sansa, please," his voice is of a broken man, a conflicted one. She raises her gaze to meet his, those Stark colored eyes she once thought she could get lost in. "You don't understand." He goes on, shaking his head, taking a single step towards her, as if he means to close the gap between them. But he thinks better of it, drawing his hand to his chest, fingers curling into a shaking fist. 

"What's there to understand, Jon?" Her voice is quiet anger, empty sorrow in her sapphire colored eyes. "I think I understand quite well," she quips, noting his wince as if she's struck him. She wants to, in truth. "You sailed for Dragonstone to find us an ally in Daenerys Targaryen to protect the North from the Night King... Did sleeping with her solidify your alliance?" He winces yet again and closes his eyes, but she's not finished yet. "You have promised my home, our home, to this foreign queen... _We_ took it back from the Bolton's, but you saw fit to give it away without even speaking to me." He's opened his eyes again and she must look away, she can't face him when he looks at her that way. "You have chosen her over me, that is clear enough, Jon." She stops herself now, knowing there was no use in going on. What else she had left to say... Now was not the time. 

  
"I chose the North," he rasps with a shake of his head. "I chose you, no matter the cost." 

Sansa smiles, a wane, joyless smile that fades when she speaks. "I once thought that." She turns then, heading towards the door, turning back only when her hand is on the knob. "No one has hurt me like you have," her words cut him deeper than any sword ever could and ever would, they steal the breath from his lungs, rendering him unable to speak before she's disappeared out the door. 


	34. I don't want to be alone right now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: "i dont want to be alone right now" from a dialogue prompt list.

It's strange to be back, back in the rooms that had once been Robb's.

He recalls the last time he had stood in these rooms, the morning they waited for Robert Baratheon to arrive, freshly shaved boys that had yet to grow into men. Rickon and Bran had run underfoot and Jon had thought back then that he never wanted to leave home. Being there with his brothers, with his family, that had meant everything to him. Even if Lady Stark had been cold and Sansa had been distant. 

If only he'd stayed... If only they had all stayed. 

He sighs, running his hand along the fur lined coverlet on the bed, such a thing so old it was made with Lady Stark's own stitching. It's just as he's sinking onto the edge of the bed that a knock sounds, bringing him back to his feet just as the door swings open. 

She comes in like a winter storm; skirts swirling, red hair flying, blue eyes damp with sorrow. "Sansa,” he says as she crosses the room to stand at the window, staring out into the godswood which the view overlooks. When she doesn’t respond at first, he slowly approaches her where she stands, reaching out a hand to gently touch her shoulder, guiding her back around to face him. His heart breaks at the sight of her; she’s pale and tired, eyes swollen with crying. “Are you alright?” He asks, even though he knows it’s a stupid question. Just looking at her, he knows she’s far from alright.

Blinking, she moves past him, pacing the floor as she wrings her hands before her. She cannot find the words to express to him what she feels because even she isn’t certain. Sansa knows she should feel joy- they’ve taken back their home from the Bolton’s, but at what cost? Rickon was dead, he was down in the crypts already. Bran was missing, Arya was missing... Robb was dead, her parents were dead. Everyone was lost to her except for Jon.

She freezes where she stands, raising her stricken face up to his, breaking apart right there before him. It’s his arms that she feels a moment later, winding around her as they sink to the floor, her face buried in his shoulder as she cries. Jon speaks soft, comforting words into her ear, the warmth of his voice bringing her more peace than she has felt in a lifetime. He holds her for what could be several minutes or several hours, she loses track of time there in his arms. But finally, her sobs begin to quiet and she draws back from him, knowing that gazing into his eyes always left her feeling safer, stronger even. _“I don’t want to be alone right now,”_ she admits softly and Jon smiles, giving her a single nod before he rises up to his feet, drawing her up with him. 

And it’s then that he leads her towards his bed, guiding her until she’s lost her shoes and is tucked beneath the furs, warm and safe. “You never have to be alone again.” He says softly, leaning over her to press a kiss to her temple, a reminder for both of them of the other kiss they had shared that morning on the battlements. Her cheeks flush with color and she nods, swallowing against the emotion rising in her throat as she settles back against his pillow. He sits down on the bed beside her and she draws her hand out from beneath the blankets so she can grab hold of his, giving it a tight squeeze. 

“Neither do you,” she whispers into the dark and Jon smiles.


	35. I like your laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: "I like your laugh" i think. pretty sure it was a dialogue prompt list. or it was a season 8 fix it drabble. either way, jon and sansa share a cute moment after the celebration feast.

  
When the feast is over, Jon can't stand to part ways with her yet. And so, drunk as he is, he stumbles along beside her back towards her chamber. She is far more sober than he is and it is her steady hand on his arm that keeps him moving forward, though her lips are smiling as they approach her rooms. "You've had too much to drink," she admonishes as she opens the door, gesturing for him to go inside and she lets the door fall close behind her when she steps through the doorway. 

"All in one go, I believe in you," Jon slurs, repeating the words she had said to him not long before. She laughs, a sound he thought he might never hear again as long as he lived. It was a sound that send waves of pleasure through him, a sound that he never wanted to let go of. "I like your laugh," he can't stop himself from saying, all of that ale he drank giving him more confidence than usual. For one moment, he won't control the words that he says to her, for one night he will be honest with her. More honest than he's ever been. Her cheeks bloom with color and he reaches for her then, stroking the petal soft skin that burns red. Beneath his touch she freezes but not from fear, not from dislike, but rather surprise. It takes only a moment for her head to incline into his touch, her rosy lips curving with a smile. "I've wanted to hear you laugh again since the moment you came to Castle Black." His memory of her back then has not yet faded, so small and broken, cold and alone. He's not sure it ever would fade. 

"You're the one who reminded me how to smile," she whispers, wondering if in the morning he'd even remember this conversation. "You're the one who taught me to laugh again." She feels his fingertips ghosting along her jaw, down to toy with her hair that has slipped over a shoulder. "I want you to keep me laughing, Jon." The admission falls from her lips and she chuckles in spite of herself, suddenly very glad he's drunk and will likely forget such an embarrassing statement. 

But then, his arms are around her and he's clutching her close. Sansa gives in to his embrace, her own arms slinging around his waist as she buries her face into the crook of his shoulder. "I'm not so amusing when I'm sober," his words bring another laugh from her lips and she pulls back, staring into his dark eyes, reaching up to gently cup his cheek into her palm. "But I will try." 

He would give anything to keep her laughing, drunk or not, he would do anything to see her smile.


	36. I'd tell you i miss you but i dont know how.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: taylor swift lyric prompt meme, id tell him i missed him but i dont know how. for some reason i wrote it in first person.

My ears are ringing, my heart is thumping. "Sansa..." He speaks my name so softly and I'm lost in his voice, I'm lost in his eyes. He's been gone all these weeks and I cannot even find the words to tell him that I've missed him, that I love him. We're alone in my rooms and I want him to take me into his arms, I want him to hold me like he held me the night before he left for Dragonstone. All this time he's been gone, I've done little else but think of that night and all of the things I wished we'd said, I wished we'd done. Now he's back and I'm back to imagining those things. "Say something," he whispers, taking a tentative step towards me, closing what little gap remained between us. He's so close now I can smell him- he smells of firewood and horses, telling me he's been down at the wildlings camp. He's not been with that soft faced, silver haired queen as I had suspected. 

"There's nothing to say," I say as I lean in, brushing his mouth with my own. It's a hesitant kiss, this kiss I've initiated, a question that I could not find the words to ask. Jon's response is to completely take control. His kiss his hungry, starving. It's a kiss of a man that's been waiting, a kiss of a man who's done little else but long for it. How is it that I've felt the very same way? I feel his hands in my hair, knocking pins from my braids, but we don't care. He's pushing me back until my thighs bump up against the bed; his kiss only intensifies. One hand is still in my hair as the other begins to wander, stopping only at my hip, though the grip of his fingers is tight through the layers of my gown. "Do you love her?" I ask before I can stop myself.

Jon pulls back and my body screams in protest. Every inch of me is tingling, every inch of me wants to feel his hands again. "I love the North." He says, his fingertips trailing from my temple down my cheek and then even along my swollen lips. "I love you." He corrects himself with a smile, tipping his forehead against mine. "Have a little faith in me." 

"You know I do." I reply before I kiss him again, this one matching his in hunger. His hands are on my shoulders then, gently pushing me down onto the bed. I sink and scoot back, giving him the space he needs to climb into the bed over me, his tongue meeting mine as I pull his leather jerkin off and toss it to the floor. His hands have snuck around the back of me and I can feel him unlacing my gown just enough that it slips from my shoulders, exposing my skin to him. I thread my fingers through his wild curls as he breaks the kiss to instead trail his lips along my throat down further still. His lips brush across my collarbone and along the swell of my breasts, and then back up to kiss a scar from Ramsay on my left shoulder. 

This time when he raises his mouth back to mine, the kiss is slow and gentle, a kiss that says to me everything our words had not. 


	37. In Ghost's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: some jonsa scenes from ghost's pov.

He caught the scent before the gate even opened.

Hearing the guard's cry, Ghost trotted along towards the center of the courtyard as the three horses came through the gate. He recognized the scent, though faint as it was, and the red hair even more. It was his master's sister. Her scent was faded, overpowered by fear and isolation, and the wolf knew this girl was not the one that had once petted him kindly, that had stroked his white fur when all others turned away. This was a new girl entirely, one forged of ice and snow, a woman who needed protected. Ghost growled low in his throat when a man approached from the side and he stepped back. No one would interrupt what was to happen next. 

Another scent caught his attention and the wolf swiveled his gaze to where his master now stood, high on the stairs that led out from the dining hall. Ghost had never seen such a look upon his face. He watched as Jon came down the stairs, making his way into the center of the courtyard where the young woman now stood. Now that he was closer, Ghost could smell the shock coursing through his master's veins, could hear the subtle change in his breathing pattern- it never caught in his throat in such a way before. 

It was a moment later that Ghost watched as she flung herself towards Jon and he caught her with ease, burying into her embrace as if she were the only thing real in his world. Ghost was a wolf but he knew his master had been dead only days before. Now he was alive again and suddenly, the purpose was making itself known. 

[ x x x ]

Her touch was as gentle as he remembered. 

It was times like these that Ghost wished he could speak, for he wanted to ask her so many questions. She still yet smelled of sorrow and fear, though the scents had diminished somewhat in her weeks with Jon and him. There was no trace of Lady's scent upon her and Ghost felt the pang of sorrow for his lost sibling who would have protected this girl when no one else had. Ghost slept in her rooms each night and knew she suffered horrific nightmares that left her crying in the dark; he would climb further up into her bed then, squishing himself as small as he could go so she might hold onto him and calm herself until she fell asleep clutching him close. 

On this particular day, it was well into the morning and she still yet remained in her rooms. She had not even dressed herself, though she was usually quite meticulous of such things. Ghost had remained awake with her nearly all night, so distraught was she after waking from a single dream that had her retching into a bucket beside her bed when she woke. And she'd never gone back to sleep after, thus leaving them to sit together in her bed until she finally climbed from it to instead sit in a chair beside the fire, he at her side. And that was where they still yet sat now, she absently stroking his head as she stared into the fire without seeing at all. 

And it was where they sat when there came a knock on the door a moment before it opened. Ghost turned to see his master as he came into the room, gently shutting the door behind him before he slowly approached where Sansa and he sat before the fire. Jon took several long moments to take in the sight of the young woman- hair disheveled, nightgown wrinkled, face pale and drawn, and blue eyes rimmed with dark circles. All telltale signs that she'd not slept the night before or for many nights now. Only Ghost could hear the catch of Jon's breath, only he could hear the slight waver in his voice when he finally spoke her name. Watching his master's reaction to the pitiful sight that was Sansa only proved to the wolf the depth of his feelings for her. 

He strayed towards the bed as Jon knelt down at Sansa's side, touching her hand, jogging her from the fog that was her mind. Ghost watched as she crumpled, flinging herself into his arms- the only place she felt safe- and could smell the scent of her tears... And Jon's, though he hid them well from her as he held fast to her sobbing frame. 

A little while later when she had cried all her tears and fell asleep, Jon carefully rose up from the floor with her body in his arms. Onto her bed he placed her, tucking her beneath the fur lined blankets. He then grabbed the chair she'd once been sitting in and dragged it to sit beside her bed, watching over her as she finally slept, and Ghost lay at his feet knowing this would certainly become a new part of their lives; watching over the girl they loved. 


	38. In the crypts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon believes himself to be cursed & sansa is there to remind him that he's not yet lost all he loves.

It's as she's coming across the courtyard that she sees Jon. She slows her pace and comes to a standstill, watching him as he walks along the edge of the yard, towards the door that would lead down into the crypts. The night was late by now and she knows he's supposed to be resting, these hours after the final battle with the man she'd just killed. Jon should have been in his room, sleeping, or at the very least just sitting up doing nothing. She knows she should give him space, but when she began to walk again it was towards the very same door Jon had only just gone through.

The crypts were dimly lit, the torches casting eerie shadows along the walls, but she felt no fear. This one place, surrounded by her family, she felt safe. Down here, she felt close to those death had taken away. She walks the length of the hall and only stops when she hears the soft sound of someone crying. Sucking in a breath, she leans around the corner where she stands and sees the source. It's Jon... of course it's Jon. He stands over Rickon's battered body, not yet buried into his eternal resting place, instead laid out beneath the watchful eyes of their father's statue. 

Deciding this is not a moment to watch in secret, Sansa comes around the corner and at the sound of her footsteps, Jon is looking up. Their eyes meet for one long moment before Jon looks back down at Rickon's pale face, shame rushing through his veins as he looked upon the little brother he had failed. As Sansa comes to stand beside him, he's hit with memories; there's Sansa with Rickon in her arms, his white blanket trailing the ground. There's Arya and Bran tumbling around the yard while Rickon cheers them on. And there's Robb hoisting Rickon up onto a horse for the first time. "I failed him," Jon murmurs as he reaches out to brush a curl from the boy's forehead. "I should have listened to you." He goes on to say, recalling Sansa's warnings, wishing he'd heeded them sooner. 

"He would have killed Rickon no matter what," she says softly, Jon's heartbreak bringing tears to her own eyes. She has already cried all the tears she could for this baby brother lost to her. She feels strangely numb to it all, losing Rickon, killing Ramsay. It's as if she lives in a dream world where any moment she might wake and none of it even had happened. "It wasn't your fault." In truth, if anyone was to blame for Rickon's death, it was her. She was the one to leave Ramsay and start the conflict. She was the one who convinced Jon to go to war for their home, for their family. She was the one who had known Rickon was as good as dead the day that letter had come. 

"This is what happens to those I care for," he whispers, as if he's not even heard the words she's spoken. Sansa glances to him and what she sees is a broken man. Her heart aches even more. He's thinking of Ygritte, he's thinking of Rickon. He's thinking of Robb, he's thinking of Arya, of Bran. He's thinking of Sansa too, hurt beyond measure by a monster disguised as a man. He would have killed Ramsay Bolton that night for what he'd done to Rickon alone... But knowing what he'd done to Sansa had woke something dark and violent within himself. The only thing that could wake him from the fog of violence was Sansa herself, when she'd pinned him with those sapphire colored eyes. "I am cursed," he spits out, turning away then as if he cannot even look at her. Truth was, he didn't want her to look at him. 

Sansa remains quiet before she reaches for him, taking him by the arm and forcing him back around to face her. "That's not true," is all she says before she wraps him in her embrace. He sinks against her, his arms snaking around her waist as he buries his face into her hair, breathing in the rosewater she's washed in that very morning. When she holds him like this, he believes in what she says. Sansa knows he cries, but she only holds him tighter, speaking soft words into his ear, her hands rubbing circles against the curve of his spine. She doesn't let go until he pulls back, peeling himself from the warmth of her body. 

"How is it you always know just what to say?" He asks and she blushes beneath his gaze, raising her shoulders in a shrug, a gesture Septa Mordane never could break her from. He smiles at the sight of the gesture, a quick reminder that the girl she once was wasn't entirely dead. "Wait... What is it that you're doing out so late?" Jon suddenly blinks as if he's coming back to the real world, suddenly realizing the hour is quite late and the night quite cold. Sansa is the one who turns away then, her hand reaching out to tenderly touch Rickon's cold cheek. The torchlight bounces off her auburn braids, giving them a golden hue that reminds him of a crown; its almost as if he can see one sitting upon her head. 

She wrestles with telling him. 

Part of her wants it to be hers and only hers. A secret she would take with her to her own grave here in the crypts. But when she turns back to face him, she knows Jon is the only person in the world she could trust with any secret, with anything at all. "Ramsay," is all she says, voice a hollow whisper, sapphire eyes never leaving Jon's somber eyes. "He's dead." Only then does she turn back to look down at Rickon, her hands clenching into tight fists atop the stone slab Rickon is laid out on. 

Jon isn't surprised. The only reason Ramsay had lived that day was because he'd know it wasn't his own fight to end- Sansa was the one who deserved to make the choice. Whether she did it of her own accord somehow, or she asked it of him... Either way, Jon knew it had to be her decision and hers alone. "Are you alright?" He finally asks, watching as she touches Rickon's hand, knowing she feels the cold feel of death beneath her fingertips. She nods. For several minutes or perhaps even several lifetimes, they stand there together. But finally, Jon slings an arm around her shoulders and draws her away from the little brother they both loved so much.

Tomorrow they would bury him and somehow, someway, they would keep on going. 


	39. Inviting Dany to Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: au, jon is named King in the North despite his parentage reveal post battle of the bastards. sansa, lady of winterfell, writes in jon's name to daenerys targaryen to invite her to the North.

When the truth of Jon's birth had been revealed after they took back Winterfell, there was no aminosity. Rather, the Northern lords rallied behind him, and with the support of their Lady, he was named King of the Iron Throne right there in the walls of Winterfell. A usurper queen sat upon his throne in King's Landing, and the North vowed to take back Jon's birthright. He was as much Ned Stark's son now as he had been before his parentage had been revealed. There was not a Northern man alive that would stand strong behind Jon. And so it is proclaimed through all of Westeros that a new King would rise up to claim his throne- a Northern born dragon, the white wolf of Winterfell would take back what was always meant to be his. 

And so now, several weeks since they had reclaimed Winterfell and Jon had been named King, he sits in his solar alone with Sansa. 

"Lord Bryce sends his apologies for not attending the most recent meeting, it seems his children caught the winter sickness," Sansa is saying as she reads through the raven scrolls brought that very morning. Jon stands at the window, looking out into the courtyard below, Ghost at his feet. The wolf has scarcely left Sansa's side since she had found them at Castle Black some months ago, so he can't help but to smile when he feels him brush up against his own leg. "It has been especially bad this year," she goes on as she sets the parchment aside, sitting back in her chair to raise her gaze to where he stands. She recalls many years ago when as a child, Jon had fallen gravely ill with the same sickness. As if he knows she thinks of him, he turns to face her, his typically stoic features softening with a smile all for her. 

They still are learning to navigate this world of being cousins, rather than half siblings. There has been a connection between them since their reunion some months ago, a connection far beyond that of a brother and sister. A connection that left them both uncertain, tip toeing around the other, fearful of what feelings grew between them. But now... Now they were free to feel as they pleased and neither had quite come to terms with that. 

"We are lucky it's not reached Winterfell." Jon replies as he takes a step closer to where she sits, Ghost moving all the way across the room to instead curl around her ankles. He opens his mouth to speak again, but there comes a knock to the door, interrupting whatever it was he was about to say. 

"Your grace, my lady," Lord Royce appears in the doorway, coming in with a bow. "A letter has just come for you." He extends his hand, a tightly rolled scroll in his grasp, which Jon takes with a nod of thanks. When the man has stepped back out of the room, Jon unrolls the parchment and begins to read. He doesn't realize his face changes until Sansa speaks out, asking what the letter says. 

"It is from my friend, Samwell Tarly. From the citadel." Jon looks up from the letter and his eyes meet hers. "He says there is dragonglass on the island of Dragonstone." Sansa blinks before she nods, understanding what he is saying. Since taking back Winterfell, they have talked extensively about what is coming for them next. The Night King and his army will descend upon all of Westeros if they don't stop him. And they can only do such a thing with said dragonglass, materials that can be turned to weapons that kill wights. 

"Daenerys Targaryen sits in Dragonstone now," Sansa replies, thinking of a letter she had received from her one time husband Tyrion Lannister only a few days before. A letter reminding the North of who the one true Queen of the Iron Throne. Jon had dismissed such a letter, telling her that the struggle for the Iron Throne wouldn't matter if the Night King and his army killed them all. Jon turns back to look out the window, his mind racing as he tries to think about what the next step must be. It takes only Sansa a moment to know. "We must invite her here," she says, her words bringing Jon back from his thoughts. He turns back around to face her as she rises up from the chair she'd been sitting in. "We will invite this Daenerys Targaryen here and we will make peace, even just for now. It is as you said... The struggle for the throne matters not until the Night King is defeated. Besides... She's your family." If she was Jon's family, then she was hers as well. "We will defeat the Night King together." 

Jon stares back at her several moments before he gives a nod, relief rushing through him. It is moments like these that he's so thankful to have her in his life. Sansa smiles and tilts her head, red hair a waterfall across a shoulder, sapphire eyes sparkling in the firelight that spills into the room from the hearth behind her. Suddenly, the light bounces from her red hair like a golden crown, and it's as if he's seeing a vision of the future. It's as if the image has been there all along, of her in silk gowns and a golden crown of a queen. 

Finally he finds his voice. 

"Invite her, then."

[ x x x ]

It's two weeks later when a raven arrives, addressed to Sansa.

"Who is it from?" Jon asks from where he sits on the edge of her bed, having joined her in her rooms only a few minutes before. Sansa sits at her looking glass, where she had been pinning the last of her braids into place when the attendant brought the letter. 

Sansa breaks the seal on the parchment, but she already knows the handwriting that is scrawled across the front. "Tyrion Lannister," she says, her words bringing Jon to his feet as she swivels around in her chair to face him. "Daenerys Targaryen has accepted my invitation. She will come North." Their gazes meet, locked into place for several long moments, before he nods. "We must prepare." She goes on, setting the letter aside as she too rises up to her feet, black skirts swirling with her movements. 

Again, Jon nods, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as she comes to stand before him. "I will take care of everything," she goes on to say with a quick smile. "If I remember correctly, you and Robb never paid much mind to any of our lessons beyond one that involved holding a sword." Jon laughs at her remark, visibly relaxing then beneath her sapphire gaze. 

"I would be lost without you," he says and it's her turn to laugh. 

"That's the smartest thing I think you've ever said," she teases, looping her arm through his when he offers it to her. Both are well aware of the warmth of one another's skin, even through their layers of clothing. "Walk with me down to the godswood? I promised Ghost we might go," she speaks as he steers her from the room and into the hall. The wolf enjoyed racing through the trees, howling to the winter sky above. Jon can only smile, loving to see the bond that had developed between his wolf and her. One might even say Ghost belonged to Sansa and not Jon. 

"Lead the way," he says with a grin and together, they make their way down through Winterfell, through the home they had reclaimed together. He would walk with her anywhere. 


	40. Is that you...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: "sansa, is that you?" post battle of the bastards.

His mind is racing, full of pictures he doesn't want to face. _Not yet,_ he thinks, hands over ears, sinking down into the chair before the hearth. _Not yet, not yet._ He isn't ready to face the image of losing Rickon, of the blood stained corpse that was all he had left of his littlest brother. He remembers him small, clinging to Sansa's skirts in the courtyard; he remembers his laughter along the wind, his Tully touched hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. His heart... it aches as much as his fists, bruised and broken perhaps even beyond repair. 

Pain, anger, sorrow, it all rushes through him, pulling him in dozens of different directions. All he can think about is turning it all off, all he can think about is sinking into the darkness of sleep. Perhaps he will wake up and this will all have just been a dream. _Not a dream,_ he thinks as he raises his gaze to stare into the fire burning in the hearth, _a fucking nightmare_. He thinks back to the hundreds of moments that had led him here to this moment. That night... No, it's another moment he's not ready to face. That night of his death. But he remembers waking up, that first breath of life, though he knows he had not begun to live again until Sansa appeared. 

He would never forget that moment when he first saw her again. She had been so thin, so small... She was like a ghost. It had taken him no time at all to realize what purpose his resurrection had served: her. His reason for living again was her, that beautifully broken soul that had become Sansa Stark. Sister or not, she was his reason to live. He had gone to war for her and he would do it again and again and again. He would fight any battle, would fight any enemy, so long as it meant her protection. 

Perhaps deep in the back of his mind, Jon knows the truth of his feelings, but even here, now, he's not ready to admit it even in the safety of his own thoughts. 

And as if he's conjured her from his thoughts alone, he feels it, the warm yet soft touch of her hand against his shoulder, against his cheek. "Jon..." Her voice is like the whisper of the wind, her touch like the summer sun. He turns to face her and her face is pale and drawn, but her sapphire colored eyes are soft and gentle, comforting him as he stares her in the face. 

"Is it you?" His hand reaches for hers and she clings back to him, tears filling her eyes as she gives a single nod. In that moment, no longer does it matter what ties they hold to each other because all he wants to do, no needs to do, is hold onto her. And so he tugs on her hand, drawing her down onto his lap there before the fire. Her soft protest, her plea for his wounds, both are ignored as he holds her close, just breathing her in, her familiar scent of rosewater making him whole once again. "I'm sorry," he whispers, over and over again, tears burning behind his closed lids. He's sorry for so very much. 

Jon feels her lean into him then, slipping her fingers through his, giving his hand a single, yet tender squeeze. "We still have each other," she whispers back, tipping her head so it rests against his, while his other arm remains slung comfortably around her hips. "We'll always have each other." 

Maybe that would just be enough. 


	41. It's just a cut!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: sansa cuts herself & jon has a heart attack

When he comes into her rooms, she's bleeding.

"Sansa!" He yelps, nearly knocking over the table in his effort to reach her. "You're bleeding!" He barks, reaching for her wrist so he can draw her injured hand close for his inspection. "What happened?" He demands, looking from her bleeding palm to her face, then down to the table they're standing beside. 

The top of the table is cluttered; droplets of blood are splattered across the top, as well as what he knows must be the weapon she's injured herself with, a small blade he recognizes at once as Valyrian steel, and he reminds himself to say something to that blasted blacksmith Gendry who must have made her the knife. "It's just a cut, really," Sansa protests, trying to draw her hand back from him, but Jon only holds onto her wrist a little bit tighter. And though she frowns, she falls silent as Jon leans in so he can inspect the wound a little bit closer. 

It was as she said- though bleeding heavily, it was a superficial cut to the soft skin of her palm that would probably heal without even scarring. "What happened?" He asks as he draws the goblet of wine that sits on the table closer and without a word, dumps it over her open wound. She hisses with pain and Jon shoots her an apologetic look before he begins to blot it clean with a scrap of linen she must have fished from her sewing basket before his arrival.

"I was... Well I..." She blushes to the roots of her fiery hair, casting her gaze away as if she's too embarrassed to answer. "I was trying to learn to use it," she finally says softly, lifting her gaze back to his. "After what happened in the crypts..." Fear resides in her eyes and Jon feels his heart skip a beat. Of course... of course. She must have been terrified that night in the crypts, sent down there where she thought she would be safe. Instead, she had been forced to watch her own families corpses rise from the dead, she had been forced to plunge that same blade into Rickon's back to keep him from killing a small child. Nothing would ever let her forget that night. "I only wanted to be more helpful in the future." 

As Jon finishes wrapping her hand in cloth, he turns back to face her and can't help but to reach out and touch her cheek, fingertips trailing the curve of her soft skin. "You don't have to wield a blade just to be useful, Sansa." He says seriously, his hand slipping down to take hold of her uninjured one. "Your hands are meant for holding, for sewing, for tending." He thinks of her when he saw her that night- tending to the injured despite what she herself had been witness to. "The Lady of Winterfell needs no blade to protect herself or her people." He goes on, his words tugging at both her heart and her lips, curving them into a small smile. "That's my job. I made you a promise, Sansa. I'm always going to protect you." Her eyes widen at such an admission and then she softens, blinking back tears that gather upon her lashes. "So promise me that you won't try again without me? Or at least Arya, she's more skilled than I am I think." 

Her laugh is soft, but it's a truer laugh than Jon has heard since he's returned home from Dragonstone and he's full of relief at the sound of it. "I promise," she finally says with a nod, knowing it wouldn't have taken much to convince her otherwise- her hand hurt like hell and that was enough to keep her from picking up the blade for a long time. Although, she had to admit, she liked the feel of his hand on hers, gently taking care of her injury just as she had done for him two nights prior. She liked it, having him this close. 

And Jon liked it, too.


	42. I want a baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: sansa wants to give jon the heir the north needs.

"I want a baby." 

Jon shifts from where he sits, already in bed in just his breeches. She stands beside the bed, nightgown trailing the floor, red hair a single plait down her back. "I want a baby," she says again, moving to kneel on the bed at his side, her braid swinging across her shoulder. 

"Is that so, sweetheart?" He asks with a chuckle, but to his surprise she climbs over him, hips lined up with his, her weight warm but firm against him. "You're serious," he draws back then, tipping his head back against the pillows to get a good look at her face. Those sapphire eyes of hers are burning and at once, Jon feels the rush of arousal through him. He'd give her anything that she asked of him when she hovered over him like this. 

"You're leaving me for Dragonstone in the morning and I should like something to remember you by," her voice is like silk, a whisper in the falling darkness. 

"I won't be gone long," he's pressed a hand into the small of her back, bringing her down towards him so he can capture her mouth with his. The truth was he wouldn't mind spending the rest of his time with her in that bed. "I will be back so soon you will be wishing me away again." His teeth sink into the soft flesh of her throat, uncaring of the little bruises each bite leaves behind. She's moaning softly, head tilted back to expose the expanse of her throat to him as he trails his lips across her fluttering pulse. 

"You're the King now... And every king needs an heir," her whisper is warm against his skin as she moves her lips up to find his. Jon can feel her hands roaming elsewhere and his own are pushing her nightgown up and out of the way. "When you come back to me... I want to already know I am carrying him." She lets out a long, breathy sigh as she slides into place against him, his hands gripping her waist. 

Gods, he'd spend the rest of his life right there with her, that was certain. 


	43. I'm right here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: "I'm right here, i'm not going anywhere" from a dialogue prompt list.

Ghost's whining is what wakes him from his slumber.

The wolf is at his bedside, whining and nudging his arm, as if he means to tell him something. "What is it boy?" Jon asks as he rises up from the furs, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Ghost is looking at him with those red eyes and for some reason, without warning, without explanation, Jon thinks of her. "Sansa?" Worry rushes through him and at once he's out of the bed, pulling on his rumpled shirt and heading out the door. Ghost barrels past him and sure enough he rushes down the hall towards the rooms Sansa occupies. 

When she wakes from the dream, it's to throw up in the wash basin beside her bed. 

Panting, she wipes tears from her face, she can barely catch her breath. Her heart hammers wildly in her chest and even several deep breaths cannot calm it. Sansa presses her face into her palms, shoulders curving in as she fights to retain control of herself, as she fights away the images of her nightmare. Another night haunted by the memory of Ramsay Bolton, though she'd been away from his clutches for weeks now. Even now she could feel the sting of his blows, could feel every terrible thing he had ever done to her. She had thought, no she had hoped, that her pain would begin to lessen... That soon she would sleep soundly at night, but she was beginning to fear she'd never sleep well again the rest of her life.

Heaving a sigh, she feeds kindling into the dying embers of her fire, sparking it back to life before she takes to the chair settled before the hearth. It's only then that she hears the sound of footsteps outside her door and the unmistakable sound of Ghost whining. She rises up from the chair, it's not the first time Ghost has come to her rooms in the middle of the night when she needed him most. Though he was not her wolf, it was as if he understood her in a way no human ever could. In truth, most nights now he slept at her side, though this night he had been out hunting somewhere when she'd finally gone off to bed. Opening her door, she's surprised to find not just Ghost in her doorway, but Jon looking both extremely worried and uncertain about knocking upon her door in the middle of the night. "Sansa!" He says when he sees her, his brown eyes widening, his mouth soft as he peers at her in the darkness. "Ghost... Ghost was worried." He says as if this explains it all. Sansa can't stop the smile that twitches on her lips before she nods, stepping aside to allow him to come into her room. 

Now that they stood in the firelight, Jon drank in the sight of her; pale, shaking, afraid. His heart sank though anger surged through him. His only wish was to make her feel safe again, to make her feel well again. In her few weeks with him, she'd yet to gain much weight back, though her smile seemed to flash more often now than it did that first week. She takes to the chair she'd once been occupying and at once, Ghost settles at her feet, her hand straying to the top of his large white head. Jon pulls up another chair beside hers, though he turns himself to face her as silence falls around them. "I'm worried about you, too," he finally says, speaking the truth that weighed upon him all these days. At once she looks away, idly plucking at a stray thread in her nightgown. "Sansa," he says, his tone a bit sharper, enough that she flinches, and at once he feels contrite. So he reaches out a hand, gently laying it over hers, his skin warm against hers. "Sansa..." Softer still, his tone encouraging her to finally look up at him. 

When she does, her eyes are full of tears threatening to spill over. Her mouth wobbles and Jon feels his heart breaking inside of his chest. "I'm so scared," is all she can say before the dam breaks and she begins to cry, curling back into herself as she loses all control over her raging emotions. What she said was true, she was scared of everything now; she was scared to sleep, scared to dream. She was scared to live, she was scared to die. Nothing made sense anymore, nothing felt right. Nothing but him, nothing but Jon. 

Jon allows her a moment or two of crying before he reaches for her, drawing her into his arms without a word. "It's okay," he murmurs softly, his voice ghosting against her skin as she buries her face into the crook of his shoulder. "I’m right here... I’m not going anywhere." He whispers as he strokes her long red hair, hoping it offers her even an ounce of comfort. In a moment such as this, there's not much he can say or do besides let her cry and let her figure herself out. She's raw, she's sharp edges, and she needs the comfort of someone who loves her. And that was him. Jon knows he's all she's got left and she's all he's got, too. He would give anything up, even his own life, if it meant she was safe and she was happy again. 

It's a short while later when she's finally pulling free from his grasp, sniffling and wiping at her cheeks, her eyes swollen and red as they peer across at him. "I'm sorry," she says immediately, shaking her head as Ghost rubs his own against her legs. "I didn't mean to lose it on you like that." At once, Jon is the one shaking his head, reaching out his hand to tenderly stroke her cheek, erasing the last few remnants of tears from her skin. 

"Don't be," he says softly as he means to pull his hand back, though hers slips over it, keeping it there against her cheek. "When I told you I'd protect you, I meant it. Not just from people who mean to harm you... But from bad dreams and bad thoughts and everything between." She lets out a soft breath and then her lips curve with the smallest of smiles, giving him a single nod. "You should try and sleep," he says then, rising up and pulling her up with him. She nods again, allowing him to walk her back towards her bed, Ghost trotting along behind them. The moment she's beneath the furs, Ghost leaps up onto her bed, curling up at the foot of it. "Sleep well," he whispers before he leans over and presses a kiss to the top of her head. And then he slips from the room, leaving her with Ghost, hoping she could finally get even a few hours of well deserved sleep. 


	44. Your hands are tough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: "your hands are tough but they're where mine belong" taylor swift sentence starter.

It's late into the night and she can't sleep.

Sansa can't say what it was that had woke her- perhaps a bad dream now forgotten, or perhaps the sound of the thunder crashing outside the window was the culprit. The spring storm had happened upon Winterfell fast that day and she had never felt happier than she had when the first droplets splashed against her skin. Spring had been coming, slowly but surely, those last few months and finally, the very first storm had come. 

In the darkness, she reaches for him. Jon snores softly beside her, tucked towards her with an arm slung over the expanse of the bed, his hand lazily draped across her pelvis. She ghosts her fingertips along each of his fingers and over the back of his hand. Even in his sleep does he react to her touch as his hand tenses and relaxes with every stroke of her fingers. Her lips curve with a smile as she raises his hand from her hip, inspecting every inch of the hand that so often holds her. They are hardened with callouses, proof of his tight sword grip and hard work in rebuilding Winterfell. Those same hands that swing a sword touch her in ways she thought quite impossible. 

She realizes he's awake long before he tightens his fingers around hers. "Do my hands keep you awake like this every night, sweetheart?" His teasing vocals are heavy with sleep and Sansa smiles into the night, shifting so she might look upon his face. For several long moments they peer back at one another until she chuckles and slides down, head against her pillow, tucked close against him. She keeps her hand on his though, returning to her soft strokes, his skin warm against hers. 

"Your hands... They're tough..." She murmurs into the darkness, fingers tracing the length of his palm, feeling him shiver beside her. He moves as if he means to draw his hand back, perhaps shamed by the tough, hardened hands he holds her with each night. But she holds fast, keeping his palm in her grasp. "But they're where mine belong." She threads hers with his and smiles as she snuggles closer into the warmth of his touch. 


	45. A vengeful Targaryen queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: daenerys vengeance will be known.

"I came here because of _you_," the dragon queen hisses, her violet eyes dark with grief, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I came here to fight _your_ war because I loved _you_ and you repay me with betrayal after betrayal." Her heart is sinking, sinking... Though her blood it boils as she thinks back to Missandei, as she thinks back to Viserion, as she thinks back to Jorah, to her armies, and to the love she had given him. "It's because of you I've lost everything, Jon Snow." And now she thinks back to nights before, the night of the feast held in celebration of defeating the Night King... When she caught him in bed with the girl he had once called sister. The final betrayal of her heart, proof of where his loyalties lay. Where they always had lay.

"Your grace, please..." 

"No!" She cuts him off, eyes wild as she takes a single step towards him. "No... I shall not be swayed, not again." Daenerys breathes in and out, nostrils flaring as a fresh wave of anger rushes through her. I will make him pay, she thinks, I will make him taste what it is like to lose everything you love. Her mind wanders to the beautiful red headed woman, the one who had looked down upon her from the moment of her arrival in Winterfell. Sansa Stark had never once respected her as queen, though she should have. Sansa Stark had undermined her at every turn and had gone to Jon's bed when she had known he was hers. 

Jon will taste despair, she vows, he will know the feeling of true and utter loss. He will sink to his knees beside the charred remains of the woman he chose to love and he will know that he has brought it upon himself. She raises a hand to dismiss him, but only after she speaks what very well could be the last words she speaks to him. "When the Iron Throne is mine, you will see Jon Snow, you will see what I meant when I said I would take what was mine by fire and blood." 

That is her final vow to him.


	46. It looks good on you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: "it looks good on you" dialogue list, modern au setting.

Neither of them could really say what led them to this exact moment... Well, Jon actually could. He's reminded again and again of the night of the Halloween party some weeks ago now. That had been the first night he drew her into his bed though it certainly had not been the last. Alcohol had certainly played a part that night but many of the more recent nights had involved less alcohol and more feelings. 

The door to his room swings open and she's standing there in just his t-shirt and her pale pink underwear, her red hair falling down her back in soft waves. His fingers twitch as a sense of longing rushes through him; all he wants is to touch her, to hold her. She stands somewhat bashfully beside his bed, as if she's uncertain of what to do or what to say. This "relationship" of theirs was new to both of them, something neither of them had expected, and it was true that neither knew what to do now that it went beyond something physical. And so he goes with the first thing that comes to his mind- the truth. "It looks good on you," his words spark a crimson glow to her cheeks that he finds incredibly adorable and arousing at the same time. How was it that she held such power over him? 

Her smile is quick and it softens her features as she glances down at herself and then back up to him. Jon wishes to see her smile more and he silently vows to make sure he does. It's with a grin of his own that he reaches for her hand, tugging her down onto his bed so he can roll her onto her back, pinning her down with a playful kiss. Suddenly, he can't even think about keeping his hands to himself. One trails the length of her frame and further still, idly tracing swirls against the soft skin of her thigh. "But I think it would look better on the floor," his voice is a whisper in her ear, breath warm against her neck as he presses a kiss against the hollow of her throat, her pulse lightly beating against his lips. Her laugh is soft and slow as she helps him tug the t-shirt over her head, tossing it carelessly to the side as his mouth captures hers again. 

Whatever this was with her, he wouldn't give it up for the world. 


	47. No waiting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: something smutty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! more adult content!

There was no waiting.

He pulls at her clothes as quickly as she pulls at his. Her cloak is tossed onto the ground and his follows after as Jon pushes her towards the table against the western wall. Jon feels her hands as they tear away his jerkin and shirt, her hands roaming the expanse of his chest until he's moving her again. She's then groaning into his mouth as his hands clutch at her hips, her kiss strong and true while her arms drape across his shoulders. "Be mine..." He whispers, breaking the kiss so his lips can caress the soft skin of her neck, teeth sinking into her pale white flesh, uncaring of the bruises he leaves behind. 

"I already am," her whisper is hot against his skin as her mouth finds his again, her hands tangling themselves into his hair. Jon can take it no more and he hefts her up against the table, pressing her to it as his other hand pushes her heavy skirts up around her hips. He tugs at her smallclothes until they've fallen to the floor at his feet and Jon puts his hand onto the warm skin of her inner thigh, squeezing it beneath his fingers, relishing in how soft and warm it was against his own. Using his other hand, he unlaces his breeches and he tugs them down until they are at his knees and Sansa laughs softly as he tugs her closer to him. "There's a bed here, you know..." She whispers as he leans over her, brushing his mouth with hers, the heat of him pulsating against her skin, sending tremors rushing through her entire body. 

"We'll try there next," he whispers back, trailing kisses from her mouth down to her collarbone, down to the swell of her breasts at the neck of her gown. Sansa could feel him between her legs and the warmth of arousal was swirling in her stomach. Right then, there was no waiting. 

Jon was inside of her before she could say a word back and she could only throw her head back as he dove deep, his hands clinging to her hips to keep her tight against him. "Jon!" Her lips can do nothing more than gasp his name, breath catching in her throat as he met the arching of her back with a particularly solid thrust. Sansa was sinking, deeper and deeper into the ecstasy of the moment, the feeling with him unlike anything she had ever felt in all her life. She raises her legs, anchoring them around his hips, drawing them even closer, though she had not thought that even possible. 

"I've missed you," he breathes as he leans over her, yet again capturing her mouth with his, knowing he would never grow tired of feeling the touch of her lips against his. He's been away all these weeks, only to return that very day with an army and dragons and a foreign queen, all so he might protect this very woman from what was to come. She whimpers beneath him, writhing as he slides nearly free from her, smirking when he feels her hand enclose around the length of him, guiding him back into place. "Say you have missed me, too," he draws back yet again, if only to hear her impatient little mewl, before he resumes the quick thrusting he'd been providing her with only moments before. 

It was unfair, Sansa thought, knowing the control Jon had over her in a moment like this. Just the touch of his hands had her melting and she couldn't understand how he knew just what touches were the ones she liked best. "You know I did," she gasps when she can find her voice again and Jon can feel her fingernails as they claw their way down his back. They both can remember the last time they saw one another, the night before he had left for Dragonstone, a night spent in his rooms rather than hers, as they were in now. Jon had come to her that night to say a private goodbye but when she had opened the door, the only thing he could do was kiss her. That night's memory had gotten Jon through the long nights in Dragonstone, alone, a prisoner. And Sansa too had often thought of that night when she needed strength to keep going. 

He's slowing his pace and Jon feels her body tighten around him a moment before he spills his seed, the sensation rocking every inch of his body. Panting, barely able to catch his breath, Jon laughs as he pulls free from her. "You're quite the sight, my love," he teases as he offers her a hand, tugging her into a sitting position, her skirts hanging haphazardly around her waist as she makes a face at him. Jon pulls his breeches up as she slides from the table, her cheeks pink and her eyes glossy as she leans into him. He wraps one arm around her, the other sliding into her tousled red hair, the strands slipping through his fingers like silk. "I never want to part from you again," he murmurs against that red hair as he breathes in her ever familiar scent. 

"Then don't," she whispers with a flash of a smile, tilting her head just enough to expose her throat to him. She feels his lips press a kiss to where her pulse beats and it's more intimate than anything else could have ever been. He's drawing her across the room then, towards her bed, and he's then wordlessly unlacing her from her black gown. When they're both stripped from their clothes, he tugs her down into the bed she had offered to them only a short while ago. "We could stay right here... Forever." Her words ghost across his skin and Jon can feel her teeth as they nip at his lower lip. 

Jon smiles before he kisses her, slow and deep, a kiss quite unlike all of the others they had shared this night. When he draws back it's to tilt his forehead against hers. "Forever sounds perfect." 


	48. Sansa won't bend.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon wants sansa to bend to daenerys, only to keep her safe. but sansa won't do that so easily.

The solar is empty when he steps inside.

He's not surprised, given the late hour, though he's disappointed to not have even just a moment with her. They've spent little time together since his return- since that first argument they'd had in this very room. Did you bend the knee because you love her? Sansa's question still whirls in his mind, reminding him over and over again of the pain he's most surely causing her. It had been written all over her face that night, the truth of her feelings reflected in the catch of her breath, in the shine of her eyes. He knows he's putting her through grief, but again he tells himself it's for her benefit, even if she doesn't know it. 

Making his way towards her desk, he reaches out and sees his own handwriting on a stack of parchment at the top left of the surface. He picks it up and sees it's the last letter he sent her from Dragonstone; now that he looks, she's kept all of the letters he sent. He wonders if she knows he's kept all of hers as well. Setting the letter back down, he smiles, thinking of her sitting behind this desk each day, running the North like the Lady, no Queen, she was truly meant to be. He thinks of her with her fiery red hair falling down her back as she writes her commands out, he thinks of her sapphire blue eyes rising to meet any lord that stands before her, speaking to him with more reason than any seasoned noble man ever could. The room feels of her, even in her absence, and its like she's there beside him even now. Her cloak is draped over the back of the chair behind the desk and he can't stop himself from reaching out to touch the soft furs. 

And then, as if his thoughts have summoned her, she's suddenly there, clearing her throat in the doorway to catch his attention. He turns around to face her and her eyes are dark and weary, her lips pursed into a frown; he knows that she's angry, but even she can't stop her features from softening ever so slightly at the sight of him. "I thought you were with her," she speaks simply, but he knows at once what she means. She steps up closer to where he stands and at once Jon catches the scent of roses, knowing well that it comes from her red hair which now hangs free from its braids of the day. "You left dinner so fast," she goes on, sliding past him to step behind her desk. 

Jon thinks about the real reason he'd disappeared so quickly, he thinks about what it was that Samwell had told him down in the crypts. That truth is there on his lips, but he's afraid. He's afraid to tell her and endanger her more than necessary. She's doing a fine job of that herself, after all. "Sansa... We must talk." Is all he can say instead. She looks up from the stack of papers she's pretended to busy herself with and their eyes lock. He thinks back to what Daenerys has already said, a thinly veiled threat of violence against this girl he loves so much. This girl he loved despite a sibling bond, a bond thats now disappeared entirely. He can't imagine what it would feel like to lose her, to see any form of harm come to her. He can't bear that, not even to imagine it. And so he plunges on. "You must bend to her." He would rather risk her anger forever than to lose her to dragonfire. 

He watches as her face changes; first she blinks, leaning in as if she thinks she's not heard him correctly. But then she abandons the paper in her hand to come back around and stand before him. He can see her pulse beating in her throat and his hand twitches with his need to reach out and touch her. "You think I will bend to her?" She asks, a quiet rage, like a winter storm. "I will not." She shakes her head, blue eyes darkening with her anger. "I will not bend the knee, Jon! Not to her!" Her breath catches in her throat, her chest heaving, eyes wild. "You insult me by thinking I would bend to her." Her last words are a whisper, a thread. 

No, of course she wouldn't, he should have known. 

"Sansa..." He speaks her name, the syllables bringing him just an ounce of comfort. He can take it no longer and so he reaches for her, pulling her into his embrace. At first she fights against him, but it takes only a moment for her to yield to his touch, sinking into his arms as her own come around his back. "I only want to see you safe," he whispers into her hair, pulling her closer still, breathing in her sweet rose scent. "I would die if anything happened to you." The moment calls for the truth that has sat upon his heart since the day she had returned to him back at Castle Black. "I love you, don't you realize it?" The words leave his lips before he can stop them and she's pulling back then, looking into his eyes with a strange look upon her face. "I only mean..." He tries to find a way to change what he's said, remembering she still yet believes them to be siblings. But then... She kisses him.

It's a long, sweet kiss, one that might have knocked him to the floor had he not been holding so tightly to her. He kisses her back, it's the only thing that makes any sense. 


	49. Keep it on.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: "you can keep it on" from a dialogue prompt list.... i think.

When the chamber door opens, Jon's breath catches in his throat. He turns from where he stands before the hearth, the fire casting light and warmth into the room. She has come to the room alone, banishing even Brienne from her for this moment. "Sansa..." He murmurs her name as she approaches, still yet fully dressed in her dark gray and black gown, her crown of direwolves perched perfectly against her brow. Her red hair falls down her back like a waterfall, a sharp contrast to the black metal of her crown. "My queen," he goes on to softly say, reaching for her hand when she's come close enough, drawing it to his mouth for a quick kiss. He's longed to say two such words to her, in truth. 

Her laughter fills the room but she does not pull her hand away. "My king," she responds, her sapphire eyes sparkling in the firelight. That's right, Jon's been so distracted by her beauty he's nearly forgotten they've come to call him King today. And more than that... "My husband," she speaks with an emphasis on the word that's truly important. That's right, they married that morning in the godswood as dawn broke along the horizon. He would never forget the sight of her glowing in the morning sun, wrapped in white furs, her red hair braided in the most elaborate of ways. When they met again at the start of the feast, she'd unbound her hair and set her crown upon her head, striking awe in all of the room that day when she herself settled Jon's crown upon his head, crowning him her king. 

Jon reaches for her then, snaking his arms around her, one palm pressing into the small of her back, the other threading through her long red hair. "Wife," he greets simply, though his lips curve with a smile a moment before he kisses her. It's a strong and true kiss, one that ignites a fire within her bones, one that steals the very breath from her lungs. They've been waiting for this moment for so long... Always teetering on the edge of betraying what was right for what they felt. He recalls the first and only time he'd kissed her- the night before leaving for King's Landing with Daenerys. Just in case, he had whispered to her that night before he had kissed her in these very same chambers. "Turn around," his voice ghosts across her skin as his lips trail her jaw, his hand tugging her hair just enough to expose the soft skin of her throat to him. He sinks his teeth into her milky white flesh and the sound that escapes her sends heat deep into his loins. A moment later she's turning her back to him, drawing her red hair across a shoulder, giving him access to the laces at the back of her gown. He unlaces them slowly, taunting both her and himself with the pace, but the payoff is worth it. As the gown slips from her shoulders she's turning back around, letting it slide from her body in the most delicious sort of ways. 

The moment its at her ankles, he's surging her forward in just her chemise, propelling her towards the bed as she lets out a twinkling laugh. "Jon, my crown," she reminds him as he tears her chemise away, his mouth barely leaving hers long enough to give her a chance to speak. Her chest heaves with every breath as his kiss intensifies, his wandering hands only coming to stop at her hips, fingers squeezing as tightly as he dared. 

It's his turn to chuckle as he gives her a single push back onto the bed, drawing his shirt off over his head a moment before he's kneeling on the bed before her. "You can leave that on," his voice is thick with arousal and it's her hands on him then, her nimble fingers unlacing his breeches before he can say another word. Jon leans over her then and captures her mouth with another kiss, this time groaning into it as he feels her warm grip taking hold of him. When he opens his eyes, he finds himself already staring into her sapphire gaze, her lips curving with a smile when he breaks the kiss. "My queen," he whispers for the second time that night, though in a tone quite unlike the one from before. "I am yours to command." 

The look she gives him sends chills down his spine and he wonders if she even knows the hold she has upon him. "Love me," she commands softly and to that, Jon can easily oblige. 


	50. future happiness... or not?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: sansa worries that jon has only settled with her, that he deep down did love daenerys & that he won't be happy knowing she's now pregnant.

For the fifth morning in a row, Sansa wakes up ill.

"My lady..." It's Brienne as she leans over the water basin, holding her red hair back as she throws up a second time. "Are you alright?" She knows her lady and knows that something is wrong- she had begun to notice it weeks ago now. "Shall I call for the maester?" 

As Sansa rises up, she feels Brienne's hand to her arm, steadying her where she stands. "There's no need, I know what's wrong with me." She's a slow learner, perhaps, but this is something she knows and knows well. "I'm with child." A flutter of joy races through her, but she dares not be too excited. Not yet, anyways. It was still so early, anything could go wrong. And more than that... It was so very early in her marriage. Would Jon be happy to hear she was carrying his child? Sometimes she still could not help but to doubt the feelings he had for her- their marriage was, as most called it, politically advantageous. 

It was true, he claimed he loved her and had all along- despite the sibling ties they once thought they shared. But the way he had looked at the dragon queen... The way he had behaved until the very end... Somewhere, in the very back of her mind, she could not help but to have doubts. Jon had swore to her he had felt nothing for Daenerys Targaryen, but the woman had been so beautiful, so charming, Sansa could not have ever hoped to compete with her. And now that she was gone, sometimes she feared Jon had simply settled for her because it was his duty as King to provide the realm with stability. And stability would only come with a wife and queen that would provide him with children to marry to other noble houses, forming new bonds that would hopefully last for centuries. Sansa knew it was an honor to have been selected as his queen and Jon swore he chose her for love and nothing else... And yet... It was still there in the back of her mind.... What if he hadn't?

"That's wonderful!" Brienne's voice brings her back and Sansa forces a smile, her good mood suddenly spoiled. "Jon will be delighted." Sansa focuses her gaze on her sworn sword and sees the truth there on her face- Brienne truly did believe in the love Jon had for her. Surely that meant something?

"Yes... I suppose he will be." Sansa says with a slow nod, resolving not to worry about it until she was even certain of how the next few weeks would go.

[ x x x ]

He wishes she would just talk to him.

_It's too early too have lost love between us,_ Jon worries as he settles in for the night, droplets of rain a soft swell of music outside his window. _She must be angry with me... but for what?_ He curses aloud, cursing both himself and the young woman he loved so dearly. Sansa had grown somewhat distant- she was kind as always, her sweet smile never straying far from her rosy lips... And yet... Jon feels it every time, the soft tug of heartache. As if everything is not as it should be. _I must talk to her._ He rises up from his bed, knowing he'd never go to sleep if he didn't. 

It was yet another night of her sleeping away from his chambers, though he can't say why. When they had first wed only three months ago, she had kept his bed warm every night as winter slipped away. But now, she had not come to his rooms for nearly two weeks now. He's racked his brains for days now, trying to recall what it was he'd done to deserve her displeasure. Arriving to her rooms, he raised his hand as if to knock, but thought on it and instead pushed the door open without even a word.

When the door opens, she's about to climb into her bed; his chest is heaving, worry carved deep into his features. "What have I done?" He asks without preamble, his dark eyes frantically searching her face for the answer. "What have I done to offend you so?" 

"Jon..." She says his name softly and it draws him towards her, though he seems hesitant to approach. "It's not as you think, it's just..." 

"It's just what, Sansa?" He says with more venom than he means. Surprise changes her features and she arches a brow, a silently posed question. "You have all but ignored me! Tell me what I have done for you to avoid me all these weeks?" He's hurt in truth and Sansa blinks, realizing it with such a sudden severity that she thought she might stumble. No, she realizes it only a moment later that she's feeling faint and the stumble is quite real. 

Jon sees her sink before she realizes it's even happening. "Careful, sweetheart," his voice is a whisper against her ear as his warm grip steadies her. "There you go," he murmurs as he gently places her into her bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows as she sips the ale he's given to her. "I try to talk of my feelings and you faint? Some might call that attention seeking, my love." They both share a chuckle and she's already feeling better, though she suspects it's not just the ale that makes her warm. 

"Oh!" She gasps suddenly, thrusting the mug away from her. "I can't drink this." She says, sapphire eyes widening as his gaze finds hers. It only takes a moment for her to realize what she's said and only a moment longer for Jon to understand. He leaps from his place on the edge of her bed, hands going up with his shock. 

"Is it true... You're... You're with child?" Jon asks slowly, gazing down at her there on her bed, those big blue eyes of hers still able to swallow him whole. She stares back up at him for what could have been an eternity before she gave a single, solemn nod. The sound he lets out is a both a cry of shock and of joy; at once he surges forward, taking her into his arms for an embrace like he's never given her before. "A babe?" He's running his hands down her body then, his palm outstretched over the flat plane of her belly. She can't help but to laugh at his expense, the joy and surprise written all over his face. The dark cloud of doubt she'd felt these last few weeks had already begun to dissipate, leaving behind a fire that raged within her very soul. 

"You're happy?" She asks before she can stop herself. She needs to hear him say the words, she needs him to tell her that this is what he wants. 

For a moment, he stares at her, her question catching him off guard. But then his face softens and its as if he already understands her, completely and utterly. It's only then that he catches her face between his palms, drawing her mouth to his for a soft kiss that steals her breath. "I'm happier than any man deserves." He whispers as he tips his forehead down to meet hers, his mouth so close she can feel his lips curve with his smile. “Never doubt the love I have for you,” he’s trailing soft, gentle kisses down her jaw, running a hand through her red hair as she tips her head back, breathing him in as her pulls her in. “Or for him.” His hand strays to her stomach a few moments later and she’s laughing again, though a fresh wave of tears cling to her lashes. 

“Or her.” She ammends, to which Jon nods. How could she have ever doubted this man?

“Or her.” He agrees as her hands close over his, knowing without a doubt he was the happiest man alive.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: after the feast, jon needs to see sansa.

He’s drunk and he’s stupid, but there’s no going back. Not now after he’s already gone and knocked on her chamber door. From behind the thick wood, he hears her movements, and it takes her only a moment to open the door. She’s surprised to see him there but smiles a smug sort of smile before beckoning him to come inside. “You’re drunk,” she says, revolving on the spot so she can face him again. Jon drinks in the sight of her in a fur lined robe thrown over her soft white night gown, long red hair tumbling down around her shoulders. He remembers it’s nearly midnight. “Agatha would die if she knew you’d come so late to my rooms,” her voice brings him back and they both share a laugh at the expense of the old maid that always had tut-tutted over Jon’s constant presence in her rooms. 

She’s surprised he’s come, in truth. Sansa doesn’t know what to think about Jon sometimes, ever since he’s come back from Dragonstone with Daenerys Targaryen on his arm he’s been a different person almost entirely. Sometimes she’d still yet catch a glimpse of the Jon she had known and loved, but it was fleeting moments that vanished as quickly as they had come. “I was worried about you,” he admits, the alcohol giving him the courage to speak so freely. “You left so soon,” he clarifies, feeling heat rising in his cheeks as her sapphire eyes flicker in the firelight. 

Something like disappointment flickers over her face but it’s gone so fast Jon wonders if he’s only imagined it. “I was tired,” she says by way of explanation, though he notes her still made bed and tidy clothes, indicating she’d been awake all this time in her chambers. Jon arches a brow but doesn’t reply, rather he moves past her to stand before the fire that roars in the hearth. “Is there not a fire in your own rooms?” She asks as she comes to stand beside him, their shoulders just barely touching. Jon starts and shoots her a glance before he sighs, turning as if he means to go. He doesn’t blame her for her jibes, he deserved more than just her saucy tone. He deserved her white hot rage, he deserved the snarl of her words as she lashed against him like a storm. He did not deserve the smile she still somehow bestowed upon him. “Jon, stop,” she grabs for his arm, stilling his movements and forcing his gaze back to her face. “Please, stay.” Her whispered words are a plea and he cannot deny her. 

There was no where he’d rather be, after all. 

And so he nods and she smiles, the sight of it warming him more than the fire ever could. She’s in his arms a moment later, sinking into him as his arms wind around her; she could stay like this forever. 

It was perhaps minutes or hours later, she had lost track of time there in his arms, when Jon pulled away from her, saying it’d be best for him to go. “It’s late,” he says as he reaches out, unable to help himself from running his fingertips along the curve of her cheek. Her skin is soft as a petal, warm as the summer sun. “I wanted to be certain you were alright,” she’s smiling then and Jon loses himself in it, as he always does. 

Sansa can’t really say what makes her do it, but she leans in then and brushes her mouth against the corner of his mouth, the stubble of his beard rough against her skin. She hears his breath catch in his throat and her own pulse is wild in her ears. As she begins to move back, Jon turns his head in just the way that his mouth captures hers, a slow kiss that steals the very breath from her chest. As quickly as it happens, he’s pulled back, murmuring an apology, but she’s shaking her head as a smile takes roots. “Stay,” she says for the second time that night, though this time her words hold an entirely different meaning than before. “Jon...” His name on her lips is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard and Jon kisses her again, his hands weaving into her hair as she melts against him. 

She’s the one a few minutes later that leads him towards her bed, shedding her robe as she went. Jon doesn’t dare believe this moment is real, but it’s indeed Sansa’s hands that begin to unlace his shirt, and it’s still yet her hands that help him draw it over his head. In just his breeches, he climbs into her bed as she bids, and they both can feel the strange, yet right feeling settling into their bones. For months he’d shied away from the feelings in his heart, knowing he could never be with her, but now... There was no reason to hide. 

“I thought I might die,” he whispers into the dark as she settles beside him, recalling how less than a day ago he’d been staring down an undead dragon. “I thought of you and everything we never got to have.” She blinks but does not cry, though her lip trembles as she fights to keep control. “I just kept thinking... _If I get out of this, I’ll tell her the truth.” _

“What’s the truth?” She asks as she inches closer. 

“I love you.” 


	52. Only daughters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: sansa worries about only giving jon daughters.

It's late into the evening and she cannot sleep. 

She supposes the late stage of her pregnancy is to blame, but in truth its not her lack of comfort that keeps her awake. It's her racing mind. Beside her, Jon sleeps soundly, one arm flung over her as he always did and she sighs, feeling the familiar rush of happiness she still yet felt when watching him sleep. Nearly six years into their marriage and sometimes it still feels like day one. Sansa can't believe how incredibly lucky she is to have him. 

Sighing, she slips free from his grasp and slides off the bed, stretching out her tired, aching body as she went. Touching a hand to her stiff belly, she smiles, knowing this little one was ready to make their entrance. And she was ready for them, that was certain. After four previous pregnancies, she knew her body well and knew that this baby was days, if not hours, from coming into the world. Aside from being more than over being heavy with child, Sansa longed to know the gender of this final baby. Or so she said it was to be their final one (she had said the same thing about Elaena the year before). As both a queen and a wife, she knew it to be her duty to give her husband and kingdom sons, and yet, all she had given Jon and the North were daughters. Beautiful daughters that she loved with all of her heart, beautiful daughters that would grow into fine young woman, and yet... She could not help but to feel she had let Jon down by not yet giving him a son.

"Sansa?" 

She turns from where she stands at the window now, finding Jon awake in their bed. "Sweetheart, you should be resting," he says as he rises from the bed, coming across the room to gently grasp her by the arms. But as he looks into her eyes, he knows something is wrong. Something is bothering her. "What is it? Are you in pain? What's the matter?" Fear leaps into his throat, makes his heart skip a beat. 

"What if it is a girl?" 

Jon pulls back, surprised by her words. "If the babe is a girl?" He asks incredulously, unable to help himself from laughing when she nods. "Then we shall add a fifth girl to our lot, won't we?" 

"But do you not want a boy?" She asks quietly, tears welling in her eyes as her hands cross over her belly. 

"I don't want one more than the other," he said with a smile, reaching up to tenderly stroke her cheek. "You have given me four beautiful girls and if you give me another one, then you will have given me five." His thumb swipes at the tears gathering in her eyes and he pulls her as close as her great belly will allow, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I want nothing more than to have a happy, healthy babe. Is that not all that you want?" She nods, a smile twitching on her lips as he pulls back from her. "Come to bed, sweetheart." He takes her by the hand and draws her back towards their bed, ensuring she was comfortable enough before he lay down at her side. He slips his arms around her and draws her in close, sliding his hand over hers that rest against the curve of her belly, their child moving beneath their palms. "I love you," he murmurs, his voice warm against her neck. 

And as she slips back into sleep, she realizes more than ever just how lucky she was to have him. 

[ x x x ]

Two days later, in the middle of the afternoon, Lyarra Stark is born, the fifth and final daughter of the King and Queen in the North. 

And no one was happier than the King himself. 


	53. Let me make it up to you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon & sansa's argue... and makeup.

"Did you bend the knee to save the North... or because you love her?" 

Her words are a thread, spoken in a voice he's never heard her use before. The firelight surrounds her, giving her a glow like a goddess of fire, but her eyes... Her eyes are that of an ice queen. Jon shudders as their gazes meet, knowing he would do anything to protect her. 

Anything except cause her pain. 

"You don't understand," he begins quietly, but she's shaking her head, a dull laugh escaping her frowning lips. It's then that she turns to go, to push past him, but he catches her by the wrist, pulling her back. She whirls around, red hair swinging, those same blue eyes dark and damp as they gaze at him. "I did it for you." He rasps as he tugs her into his embrace, uncaring that she fights against his grip. "I did it for you." He says again, as if this will make her understand, as if this will make her see. 

But she pulls back then, full of a strength he's never seen in her before. "You did what for me, Jon? Give away my, our home, to a foreign queen?" She's ablaze with her anger, red hot as it courses through her veins. "Was sleeping with her for me as well?" She hisses, the words escaping her mouth before she can stop them. Her breathing is labored, catching in her throat as his dark eyes close, as if suddenly he cannot look her in the face. "I knew it," she says softly, shaking her head. "You love her, this damned dragon queen." 

Jon can't stand hearing her say such words. 

And so he's reaching for her once again, this time his grip stronger than before. She rails against him, fists to his chest, leaving him to wonder if she knows that she's begun to cry. As she sinks into his embrace, the fight escaping her, Jon leans in and captures her mouth with his. He needs her to know, he needs her to understand him. The kiss is slow and true, a kiss that fills her up until she's overflowing. When he breaks it, it's only so he might look into her clear blue eyes, though her name is soft upon his lips. 

It takes only a moment for her to kiss him, though her kiss is one of hunger, of desperation. Jon winds his arms around her waist as he kisses her back, a fire igniting in his loins, spreading warmth through his entire being. He pushes her back until she's against the table and even then he's unable to stop from hefting her up onto it's suface, breaking the kiss only so he can brush a kiss against her jaw, against her pulse beating in her throat. She's tugging at her skirts, pulling them up out of the way as Jon unlaces his breeches with his free hand, the other still yet pressed into the small of her back. "I did it for you," he says for the third time, feeling her hands sliding into his hair as he raises his face back to hers. 

"Stop talking," she commands and Jon can't help but to smirk. A moment later, the last barrier between them is gone and he's inside of her, the force of his every thrust causing her to bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying out. There in her solar, anyone could walk in looking for them, they could be discovered at any moment. Perhaps that's what made it all the better. 

When it's over, he steps back, adjusting his breeches as she slides down from the table, skirts rumpled and hair messy. "I'm still mad at you," she insists when she catches his eyes, but her swollen mouth and sapphire eyes tell him otherwise. 

"Come be mad at me in my room," he speaks softly, earnestly, tilting his head to rest against hers, their mouths so close he can feel it when she smirks. "Let me make it up to you," he suggests and this time she laughs outright. Finally she nods, looping her arm through his, allowing him to lead her from the room and out into the hall. Together they make their way through the darkened corridors until they reach the door to his rooms. She goes in first and when the door closes behind him, she's in his arms once again.

It was as he said, he would make it up to her. Even if it took all night.


	54. I love your children.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon has a heart to heart with Lady Stark... even if she isn't there to answer. but sansa is.

"I love your children, you know." 

She stops at the sound of the voice, pausing just around the corner from where she knows her parent's two statues stand. Peering around the corner, just enough so he wouldn't see her, Sansa watches Jon as he stands there before her mother's statue. "I loved Robb like any boy loves his brother. I would have gone to war with him, to help him keep his crown. It always should have been him." Sansa thinks about Robb then, with his Tully touched hair and his clear blue eyes. He might have been a good king, she knows, if he'd truly been given the chance. "And Arya... Bran... Rickon." Jon chokes on their youngest brother's name, the boy taken from them by Ramsay Bolton. Sansa felt as much guilt for his death as Jon did, though she thought his undeserving. "I tried to save him, you know. I tried so hard." Jon is wiping his eyes then and Sansa bites her lower lip, tears filling her own eyes as she listens to him speak to her mother's stone face. "And Sansa..." He bows his head, as if overcome by whatever thoughts were swirling through his mind. "I love her well." Sansa feels her stomach twist, her heart skipping a beat, knowing she was hearing words not meant for her. 

Silence descends and for a moment, Sansa thinks that he's finished. She takes a single step forward, like she means to go to him, but he speaks once more, sending her back behind the wall. "And now... Now this? Now I'm told I'm not even their brother?" Jon laments, his voice tortured, his hands in his hair as if is to pull it from his own head in his frustration. "What am I supposed to say to them? That my father was a Targaryen? I can't tell them that." He shakes his head and falls silent, hands tight fists at his either side. "I just wanted to belong... I just wanted to be a Stark. Now I don't even know who I am." His head snaps back up and he stares up at the stone face of the woman he never could call lady mother. "I'd give my life to bring them all back. To bring your family back together." That is when he begins to cry, such a pitiful sound that Sansa can take it no longer.

And so she quietly pads across the crypt, coming up behind him without a single word. She then envelops him into her embrace, feeling him stiffen slightly before giving in to her touch, sinking back against her. Sansa feels his hands come up to touch her arms and she breathes him in, wishing with all of her heart to offer him even just an ounce of peace. "You're still just Jon." She whispers against his ear, tightening her hold on him just a little. "Nothing will ever change who you are." He pulls from her embrace then, only so he can turn around and face her. She reaches out, stroking her thumb across his cheeks so she can erase away the tracks of his tears. "I mean it." 

Jon's face breaks with a smile and a moment later, he's tugged her into his embrace. "Thank you, Sansa," he whispers into her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of roses from the water she washed it with. She murmurs a response, but it comes muffled from where she's nuzzled her face into his neck, her body fitting against him as if it was where she's always meant to be. "It is true, what I said," he continues softly, pulling back from her just so he can look into her beautiful blue eyes. "I love you," he leans in as if he intends to kiss her, but he thinks better of it and instead brushes his mouth against her jaw, against her neck. Anywhere but her lips. "I want to be more than just Jon to you," his voice is hoarse, his heart beating faster than ever before. "You're everything to me." 

She blinks and before he can say another word, Sansa kisses him. It's soft and warm. When she breaks it, her mouth hovers over his, so close he can feel it when her lips curve with a smile. "You'll always just be Jon to me." She answers softly and his laugh warms her more than any kiss ever could. "But that's the only person I ever want you to be." He tugs her back into his embrace and holds fast to her, knowing there would be absolutely no one that could take him from her.

Not then, not ever. 


	55. the wolf born of a springtime dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: post season 8, sansa bears jon's son in secret. when the rumor of the qitn's son reaches king's landing, jon is sent home to verify his "sister's" rumor.

The day her son was born, she was woke from a dream of spring. 

Laughter had floated along the warm breeze, the sun shining overhead as children played in the godswood. They wrestled in the melting snow, wolves and boys, while the little girls stood on the side lines, cheering the boys on. Somehow, in the back of her mind, she knows those children belong to her. There's a boy with dark curls and Stark colored eyes, he's the oldest of the bunch. Then there's the boy with Tully touched auburn locks, the second born that comes close behind the oldest. The oldest of the girls is small and dark, she's like the grandmother she's named for and the aunt she idolizes. Then there's the other two, a boy and girl with eyes the color of spring violets and silvery hair that catches the sun. 

The first wave of labor pain is what startles her awake and she's unable to stop the cry of surprise, of pain, from leaving her lips. Brienne is in the room at once, the door thrown open without any sense of formality- it's been left behind at the sound of her lady's pained cries. At the sight of Sansa sitting up, doubled over in pain, Brienne knows what is happening and she's out the door, shouting for the maid that was making her way down the hall at that very moment. "The queen's time has come!" 

Fear grips her but she swallows it down, focusing instead on the prospect of holding her child. She knows he will be her Prince of Winterfell- they will call him the Young White Wolf, a boy named for the uncle he'll never know. A child born of the wolves, the stories will say, born in the first year of his mother's rule. For one single moment, she can only wonder about the other children she has dreamed of... But then another wave of pain takes her over and the door to her room bangs open as maids filter in and suddenly, there is little else for her to think about besides the pain of labor.

Except for him.

She thinks of Jon even as she's bearing down, birthing the child he helped create. Sansa wishes he were here now, she wishes he even knew there was a child at all. She thinks of Jon as she feels the child slip from her body into the hands of the maester, she thinks of him as the babe gives his first angry howl at being thrown so rudely into a bright, new world he doesn't know. She thinks of Jon as they hand her the baby for the first time, where even now at two minutes old, the whole room knows the truth of his birth. He is a Stark born child, even in infancy he is his father's copy. "Robb," Sansa cries softly as she cradles her son to her chest, naming him as she had always intended, though she wonders if Ned would be more appropriate, given his looks. But the room melts at the name and beside her bed, Brienne drops to her knees, swearing to protect the child as she's always protected Sansa. 

She thinks of Jon as she peers into her son's perfect little face, wishing with all of her heart that he was there. 

If only, if only...

[ x x x ]

"I have news from the North." 

It is Tyrion that speaks and Jon looks up from where he sits in his solar, at first annoyed by the interruption but it fades as his words settle on his brain. He's been here, trapped in King's Landing as he once was trapped at Dragonstone, all these months since Daenerys had conquered it with brute strength. On the back of Drogon, she had soared through the skies, belching flames and smoke until there was little left of the capital but rubble. Those who had survived the massacre now lived in fear of the tyrant queen. "News?" Jon questions, absently rubbing the back of his head. 

He misses home, he misses Winterfell. He misses her. 

Jon thinks back to the last time he saw her, the morning of his departure from Winterfell. She had been so beautiful that day, bathed in the morning sunlight, wrapped in furs. He had longed to kiss her that morning, to remind her of where his heart so truly belonged... But they had been stumbled upon and instead, he had embraced her as any good brother might have embraced his dearly loved sister. When she had slipped from his arms, he felt empty. 

"There is a rumor that your sister has given birth to a son." 

The goblet of ale Jon had been reaching for suddenly clangs to the floor and Jon curses, dropping to the floor so he might mop up the amber liquid, though it's done more to hide his face than clean the mess. "That is quite the rumor," Jon finally says when he's recovered from his shock enough to control his features. He rises back up, settling himself back into his chair and setting the now empty goblet onto his desk. "My sister remains unmarried." 

Tyrion smirks, eyebrow arching as he climbs into the chair that sits before Jon's oak desk. "They say the child is sired by wolves." The imp explains, watching Jon's face for any sign of what he knows must surely be the truth. That the child born to Sansa Stark is Jon's own child, a child born out of wedlock between two presumed half siblings. There were very few who knew the truth of Jon's parentage, after all. "The queen wishes to know if it is only a rumor or not," the peace between the North and the remaining kingdoms is thin and it is only because of Jon's sacrifice of remaining beside Daenerys that the North was given it's independence. Dorne is hot with jealousy and there had been whispers of their itch for their own. The Iron Islands would not be far behind. Daenerys had lost her loyal allies and now only ruled through fear. But, there was only one single dragon to fear, how long would it be before there were none? 

"She's also agreed that it should be you who goes to confirm the rumor," Tyrion's voice draws Jon's attention back and his sharp, Stark colored eyes settle upon the Lannister. The man steeples his fingers together and sighs. "I suppose, what the queen knows or doesn't know... Won't concern her." All he wants is this peace to last; he's riddled with guilt over the last few months, the ringing of the bells still yet haunts his every dream. Tyrion knows the rumor of the Northern queen's pregnancy must be only that- a rumor. True or not, the mother of dragons would not take kindly to hearing the true heir of the Seven Kingdoms had a child with the true heir of the North, who she herself has given a crown to. What a powerful child, what a power for the already disgruntled people to stand behind instead. If one wished to topple a tyrant queen, this would probably be the way. If one wished, that was. Tyrion reaches for the jug of ale and pours himself a goblet, draining it in two quick swallows before pouring himself another. 

Jon understands the deeper meaning behind the imp's words. Who better than he understands what Daenerys Targaryen is capable of? He watched her sack an entire city that had surrendered, all because she could._ Fine, let it be fear_, she had told him that night after the feast. Fear. He had listened to her threats against his people, his family... He knew what she would do if she felt threatened by Sansa and the North. It would take no time at all for the North to look as King's Landing had once looked. Ash would fall from the skies like snow, blanketing Winterfell. "When am I to leave?" He extends his hand out, goblet tight in his grip, a silent request for ale of his own. 

Tyrion raises his gaze to meet his eyes and leans in so they may clink glasses. "Tomorrow." 

[ x x x ]

Sansa hears the cry from the guard tower from where she sits in her solar, Robb tucked against her chest as she looks over a letter from Dorne. She knows it's dangerous water she treds, even just opening such letters as the Prince of Dorne wishes to fight for his nation's freedom. There are whispers everywhere of overthrowing the dragon queen and though once Sansa would have involved herself readily but now... She glances down at the baby in her arms and knows she's got a whole lot more to protect these days. Sometimes she fears doing nothing at all leaves her son in more danger. 

"Your grace." 

It is Lord Royce in her doorway, dipping her a bow. As always, he smiles over the baby she holds, warming her heart at the sight of it. Sansa knows now how truly loved she is by her people, for there was not one who voiced displeasure over her baby born from wedlock. If there were any susipicions on the father, they were not mentioned publicly, and she laughs when she hears how they say her son was born of the wolves. "Yes?" She asks, lowering the letter from Dorne, focusing her blue eyed gaze on the older man.

"There's a rider at the gate, a rider from King's Landing." 

Sansa's heart skips a beat but she dares not feel excitement. Jon would not be here, she would never allow that. "See that they are fed and warmed, then bring them here." Lord Royce gives her a nod and then bows before he backs from the room to do as he's been bid. What Lord Royce did not say was that he had caught a glimpse of the man who rode through, a man with unmistakable raven colored curls. But he goes on his way, sending a steward down to take the man to the kitchens, so he might warm himself before the great fires and eat a bit of porridage from that morning's breakfast. 

In the minutes before the knock sounds on the door, Sansa cannot help but to fawn over the baby she holds. Robb is a sweet babe, though his angry cries can easily wake the entire castle. Peering into his dark eyes, she sees his father, she sees his grandfather. Little Robb is Jon's child, there is no doubt, his Stark genes undeniable. His gummy smile is frequently seen but his displeasure is just as easily heard, though Sansa loves every moment of it. 

Knock, knock. 

Hearing the knock, she jumps, chills racing the length of her spine. Somehow, she already knows who stands at her door. She turns and gently sets Robb into his cradle, hard oak wood carved with wolves and the weirwood tree. "Come in," she calls, adjusting her position in her chair as the door swing opens and the man comes through. The breath catches in her throat, stolen from her lungs as Jon sinks to his knees before her desk. She didn't dare believe it could ever be him, but now that he's here... Tears spring to her eyes as she opens her mouth, his name soft upon her lips. "Jon..." 

He cannot believe how beautiful she is.

It's been a long eight months since he's last seen her, last held her. Her autumn touched hair is longer than ever, pulled back in a mound of intricate braids, leaving only a few soft curls to frame her features. Those blue eyes... Eyes he would willingly drown in, eyes the color of the open sea, of the summer sky. Her gown is of gray velvet, form fitting to a figure that is softer than he remembers and he only wants to take her into his arms. "My queen," he breathes as he hits his knees, holding Longclaw in the Northern gesture of fealty. For once, those words do not feel empty, they don't feel hollow. 

She rises up from the chair she's been sitting in, coming around the desk, gray skirts sweeping across the rushes. "You're here..." She murmurs as she sinks down to his level, one hand cupping his cheek to her palm, his beard prickly against her soft skin. "I don't believe this," she shakes her head, blinking fast, the tears clinging to her lashes as she sucks in a breath. "Why.." 

Before she can say another word, Jon is taking her into his arms. There on the floor, he pulls her to him and holds fast. She hears his sharp intake of breath as he buries his face into the crook of her shoulder, as his arms wind around her waist. Sansa breathes him in- he smells of horses and a campfire. "I'm an envoy now," he grins when he finally pulls back and the laugh she lets out sounds like a sob. "I've missed you," he sobers, his fingertips tracing the curve of her cheek as he stares into her eyes. 

"I've missed you," she whispers, tears falling down her face faster than Jon could wipe them away. "I thought I would truly never see you again." She'll never forget that day, when they had hugged goodbye on the docks of King's Landing, she set to return to the North and her crown, he to remain behind with the dragon queen. "Jon, there's something I must tell you..." 

Behind them, as if on cue, Robb lets out a cry. 

Jon's eyes widen at the sound and Sansa rises back to her full height, drawing him up with her. "There was a rumor that reached Tyrion," Jon breathes and Sansa shoots him an apologetic smile. "It's... True..?" Sansa doesn't respond but rather takes him by the hand and guides him behind her desk, where the cradle sits just out of sight if one isn't looking for it. Jon knows before she says it, for looking at the baby is like looking into a mirror. The child is certainly his. "Sansa!" He tears his wild gaze from the now smiling baby to look at Sansa, who is staring dreamily down at the infant, her rosy lips curved with a smile. 

"I wanted to tell you... That day on the docks..." She says softly, tears once again filling her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispers, looking back up to meet his gaze. Jon shakes his head and leans in, pulling her close to kiss. He wraps her in his arms and kisses her deep, a long slow kiss that he hopes makes up for all the ones they've missed. "Would you like to hold him?" She asks when she's pulled back and Jon gives a nod. Sansa reaches into the cradle and the baby begins to smile and coo as his mother lifts him into her arms. A moment later, she extends out her arms and slips the baby into Jon's. "I named him for Robb," she says, reaching out to brush her fingers through Robb's downy black hair, already curling at the ends like Jon's does. 

"Robb," Jon breathes, leaning down to gently kiss the baby's forehead, his heart overflowing when Robb takes hold of his index finger and holds on tight. "My son." He tests out the phrase and knows without a doubt he can never part from them again. He can never stay away. Suddenly, a dark thought takes root, a dark but necessary thought that must come true if he ever wants to keep this child safe. If he ever wants to keep Sansa safe. 

He will do anything to keep his family safe. 


	56. There are no heroes, there's only Jon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon comes to save sansa from ramsay bolton at winterfell. season 5, canon divergence.

"A raven, Lord Commander." 

Jon looks up from his desk, littered with dozens of other scrolls he's been sent these last few weeks. The boy flushes when Jon smiles upon him, tired as it is, and backs away without another word, leaving Jon to unroll the parchment. It's sealed with a seal he only knows because he's heard of it before: the flayed man. It's from the Bolton's. His blood begins to boil, as it always does when he thinks of these usurpers sitting within his home. He's been working tirelessly to band together his men with the Free Folk so there might be enough of them to take Winterfell back, in the name of House Stark.

He unfolds the parchment and begins to read. 

_To the bastard Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch,_   
_I have heard you mean to take up arms against me, your Lord of Winterfell, which I'm sure you know the punishment. I encourage you to think of what you intend on doing and what harm it will bring those you care for. Even now your old playmate Theon Greyjoy plays in my dungeons, torn to so many pieces it's a wonder he still yet stands. And your dear sister, Sansa Stark is my lady wife. Perhaps you had not heard such a thing. She keeps my bed warm enough, though she's the most unwilling wife any man has been saddled with. Remember these things, when you think of taking up an army against me. Remember who is Lord of Winterfell now and who I hold in my grasp. _

_Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North,_   
_Ramsay Bolton. _

Jon can barely breathe. He stares at the letter until his vision is blurred, the parchment clutched so tightly in his fists that it begins to tear. He jumps up from his desk and rushes from the room- he will take back Winterfell, if it's the last thing he does. 

[ x x x ]

At night when she's alone, Sansa thinks about Jon. 

She thinks about the only family she has left in this world, her bastard half brother, the boy who had always looked more Stark than any of the rest of them. Save for Arya, maybe. She thinks about him, so far, yet so close, at Castle Black, where he is Lord Commander. It's stupid and it's childish, but she dreams of him riding into Winterfell with an army at his back to save her from Ramsay Bolton and take back Winterfell in the name of House Stark. She had once dreamed such a dream back in King's Landing, when she had hoped that Robb would ride in on a white horse and save her from the Lannister's. Back then it had only been a dream and she knew it to be just a dream now as well. But she could not help but to hope, it was all that got her through some nights. 

On this very night, Ramsay had only just left her rooms. Upon her skin he'd left new bruises and her bones ache with the memory of his hands upon her. She sits in the window, staring out into the snowy courtyard, wondering if she would ever again feel happiness. Tears sting her eyes but she blinks them away- there's no use left in crying. For a moment, she contemplates what it would feel like if she threw herself from this very window. The height would be enough to kill her, certainly. Her hand shakes as she reaches out, fingertips tracing along the frosty glass until she slides her nails beneath the edge and pulls it open. The cold winter air blasts her in the face and she shudders, not from cold but from fear. But what could be worse than this?

It's as she's rising to her feet that the door opens and she turns, thinking it to be Ramsay come back for round two. But it's Theon- no, Reek as he's called now, standing there. "M-my lady," he stammers, coming into the room to force the window closed once more. She stares at him and he stares back, as if he understands her completely. "You'll catch a cold," is all he says though, ushering her away from the window, towards the bed that she can't stomach sleeping in. Most nights she sits up in the chair before the fire or curls up among the furs on the floor. 

"Jon is coming," she says with a certainty she doesn't feel, watching as Theon's expression changes only slightly. Only enough for her to notice. It's a flicker of surprise, of hope, that creeps into his eyes as he peers back at her. "He is." She says when he says nothing. "He is," she whispers, hugging herself as she sinks into the chair. 

"He is, my lady," Theon whispers back with a nod, knowing Jon Snow well enough to believe that he would fight with everything he had to take back Winterfell, to take Sansa away from Ramsay Bolton. "He will come." 

[ x x x ]

When Jon's joint army of the Night's Watch and the Free Folk descend upon Winterfell in the dead of night two weeks later, no one is more surprised than Ramsay Bolton. The bastard born Bolton had thought himself untouchable, had thought himself the winner in all things, and so when he was roused from sleep by the ringing of war bells, he could barely believe what was happening. 

It took only two hours for Jon and his army to take back full control of Winterfell and the moment he stepped off of the battlefield, he went looking for her. As he roamed the halls of what had once been his home, he felt lost. His feet no longer knew their way as they had once known as a child. "Jon," a voice draws him from his thoughts and he turns around, finding himself face to face with a man he barely recognizes. "She's this way," Theon says, gesturing for Jon to follow him down another hall. "In here," he says when they approach a door deep in the back of the castle, one which Jon is certain he's never been to in all his life within these walls. 

"Thank you," Jon replies softly, with meaning, reaching out to clasp Theon upon the shoulder as a brother might do. He's surprised when the man flinches, as if he expects a beating instead. More anger rises up within him and Jon is fearful for the state he will find Sansa in. But he opens the door to her rooms and enters, allowing his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness before he calls out her name. "Sansa...?"

The commotion of battle had woken her from her fitful sleep, though Sansa could not quite say who had come to fight. She dared not believe it was him, not even when she saw the Stark banner unravel down from the battlements on the other side of the courtyard from where her rooms stood. Not even when she hears the door opening does she dare believe it's Jon come to save her. Sansa... But then he speaks her name and she turns, blinking in the darkness, very little light coming from the dying embers in her hearth. "Jon?" She asks, his name foreign on her lips, her heart skipping a beat within her chest. 

He comes a step closer, dark eyes taking in the sight of her standing there in the darkness of her room. She looks thin, ragged, her gown old and torn, hanging from her frame like it'd not fit in months. He can only imagine what she must look like in the light. "It's me..." He whispers a moment before she begins to fall, her knees buckling beneath her. Jon surges forward, catching her before she hits the floor, cradling her weak, starving body to his chest. "I'm here, I'm here," he says over and over again, pressing his lips against her temple, against the top of her head, anywhere he can as he holds her as close as he dares. She's crying, gut wrenching sobs unlike any he's ever heard, and it's all he can do to keep himself together. 

She still can't believe it, he's come... He's come for her like she had been dreaming of since her marriage to Ramsay Bolton some months before. The last piece of her family was at her side, holding her in his arms, and she was no longer going to be alone. She was finally going to be safe again. And so she buries her face into his chest and sinks into his embrace, allowing him to warm her from the inside out.

She's safe.... She's safe. 


	57. The queen's pardon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: sansa pardons jon on the docks of king's landing. a got s8 fix it fic. well, drabble.

Standing on the dock, Sansa can only smile as Jon approaches, caught between two of the Unsullied. Soon, they too would board their boat and sail away to wherever it was they wished to go next. Sansa and Bran had already discussed the potential danger of allowing such a piece of a powerful army to just walk away, but Bran had insisted he would keep watch over them until they proved untrustworthy. And so Sansa would go along with such a thing for now and could only hope that their decision would not be regretted sometime down the line. But... Now was not a time to worry about the Unsullied. 

She listens to Jon as he kneels before Bran, speaking to him like a subject rather than a brother. It is Bran who gestures for him to rise up and they embrace, like the brother's they had always been. Arya comes next and she mentions how she does not plan to return to Winterfell, surprising even Sansa. There is a pang of sorrow in her heart at knowing their pack is to be torn apart yet again, even if it was only temporarily. 

And then... It's her turn.

Jon steps up as if he means to kneel to her as well, though a hand against his keeps him upright. They both can feel the static electricity that rushes through their veins at even the simple touch. "Sansa..." He begins with a shake of his head, knowing there were so many things he wanted to say to her. He wishes they were alone for this moment. 

"I'm sorry," she cuts in, her hand giving his the smallest of squeezes, reminding him that she's not yet let him go. "For telling Tyrion... I only..." She's silenced as Jon suddenly tugs her into an embrace, his hands coming around her, pressing against her back. She holds him just as tightly, burying her face into his shoulder as he whispers three soft little words against the shell of her ear: I love you. Three little words meant only for her. 

As they draw back, Jon takes a step back as if he means to go, he knows his ship is waiting for him. "Jon, wait," she says, catching his hand once again, keeping him there. "I have something for you," she goes on, fishing in her pocket for a tightly rolled scroll. She hands it to him and watches as he begins to read, amusement dancing in her eyes as his face begins to change. 

"I don't understand," is all he can say when he looks up, sparing a single glance at the other two, both who nod. "I don't understand," he says again when his dark Stark eyes fall upon her Tully blue. 

"You didn't truly think I would allow you to be sent off to the Wall, did you?" She asks with a smile. "That the North would allow you to be punished for a crime you did not commit?" There was no one in most of Westeros that would call Jon a criminal for what he had done, but rather a hero, rather the one true King of the Iron Throne. Especially those in the North. They would go to war again before they allowed Jon Snow to live apart from them. "We're taking you home." 

And sure enough when Jon glances behind them, the two Unsullied soldiers have disappeared down the dock, leaving their post as his guards. When he turns back around, his face feels like it might split with the smile it holds. After everything that has happened, after everything he's gone through and put them through... They're taking him home. 

She's taking him home. 

[ x x x ]

It's hours later and she sleeps soundly beside him in the bed, red hair spread out beneath her head like a crown. He smiles, recalling the way the ends of her hair had trailed across his bare chest when she had hovered above him. Sliding out from beneath the blankets, Jon tugs his breeches back on and comes to stand at the table where earlier that day he'd tossed down a rucksack and the letter she'd handed him out on the dock. He picks it up and by candlelight, reads the words she'd written down:

_Queen Sansa Stark, first of her name, the Queen in the North, does hereby pardon Jon Snow of all crimes committed in the war for the Iron Throne. From this day on, he will be known as Jon Stark, a true born son of the Stark name through his mother, Lyanna Stark. _

He turns back then, to face where she lays asleep in his bed, and smiles. His heart is full, overflowing, and he doesn't know quite how he'll ever repay her. She had laughed earlier that day when he'd voiced the very same concern, whispering that if he only held her as he had been, they were quite even. He returns to the bed and slips back beneath the furs, reaching for her warm, slim body, drawing her close as he can. She murmurs in her sleep but does not wake, rather she shifts closer to him, one arm outstretching across his hip, face snuggling closer into his neck. Jon presses a kiss to her temple and closes his eyes, knowing well he was already home. 

Home was more than just the North, more than just Winterfell. Home wherever she was, home was Sansa. 


	58. An unsurprising discovery.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jaime lannister discovers jonsa together, but honestly, he's not that surprised.

As he climbs the crumbling steps up to the Broken Tower, Jaime feels a strong sense of_ I shouldn't be here._ He can't say what brings the thought to his mind, though he feels it's to be blamed on what had happened the last time he had come to this very tower. That day felt like lifetimes ago, in truth. 

But as he approaches the door that leads into the single room at the top of the tower, Jaime slows his walk, hearing what certainly sounds like voices from within. He pauses before leaning in and pressing his ear to the wood, listening intently to the sounds from inside the room. He hears it then- the unmistakable sound of a woman who was surely writhing on a bed in pleasure. Jaime can't help but to chuckle, knowing this had been the only place he and Cersei could have come in all of Winterfell for a moment of privacy. Whoever was in that room wanted the same sort of privacy, which told Jaime it was not going to be just servants fooling around inside. 

That curiousity is what got him to carefully twist the doorknob, quietly pushing open the heavy wooden door just an inch or so, enough that he could peer through the crack and see who was inside. The room was lit only by a few candles and though he had to squint to see even a little, the red hair he caught sight of was telling. Jaime's eyes lingered for only a moment on the sight of the Stark girl on top of her companion, her head thrown back as a name passed her lips in the most lustful of ways. "Jon..." The moment he heard that name, Jaime closed the door without a sound, taking a single step back away from the door. 

He can't help but to laugh as he turns, retreating back down the stone steps he'd walked up only minutes before. Now he understands why those two had sought such privacy, to think that honorable boy Jon Snow was sleeping with his half sister. To think proud Ned Stark's daughter was sleeping with her father's bastard. _What an interesting discovery_, he thinks to himself as he steps back out into the cold winter snow. He had to be the only person in all of Winterfell that knew what was going on between those two and they were lucky it was someone who could be sympathetic towards their relationship that had found them. 

Jaime has walked this very same path and he knew he would help them along, should they need it. He had pledged himself to Sansa Stark only the day before, after all. He would help her in anyway possible. Even one such as this. 


	59. Sisters reunited.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: sansa and arya reunite when arya finally returns home from her trip at the end of the finale. not actually jonsa.

When the captain of her guard comes to tell her that a young woman has ventured into Winterfell under the guise of Arya Stark, Sansa can only smile. "We'll find her, your grace," another soldier promises as the young queen rises to her feet. "No need to concern yourself, of course, we'll-"

"No, I know where she's gone," she shakes her head, thinking back to a very similar conversation she'd had some time ago. "There's no need for you to search for her." She waves the man out of the room ahead of her, pulling her cloak on as she lets the door swing closed behind her. As she walks the halls of Winterfell, she cannot keep her heart from beating at a calm pace- how long has it been after all, since she last saw her little sister? 

Two years, Sansa knows that answer without hesitation, for had she not been keeping track of everyday she spent without those she loved? Arya who had gone off to find what lay beyond the maps of Westeros, Jon sent away to Castle Black, Bran back in King's Landing... The pieces of her family she'd found had drifted apart and she had spent the better part of these last two years trying to stay afloat in her sea of loneliness. Part of her wants to be angry with Arya, with Jon, but she knows they had to find themselves. After years upon years of misery, of war, of fighting... She did not blame them for wanting to find something for themselves. 

She only wishes that becoming queen had fulfilled that need in herself. 

Pushing open the door that leads down to the crypts, Sansa blinks against the tears that already have begun to gather in her eyes at the sight of Arya standing at the end of the hall, her face upturned towards the rebuilt statue of their father, the rest of their families graves scattered down the hall. "I'm back," Arya says as Sansa approaches, turning to face the older sister she had missed a whole lot more than she might ever let on. She watches as Sansa's face breaks out into a wide smile, though tears are falling down her cheeks. Arya realizes only a moment later that her own face is wet with tears. "Must I bow now and call you your grace?" 

Sansa chokes on a laugh at Arya's words, shaking her head before she throws her arms around her sister before she can say another word; their embrace is long and warm, bringing to each girl a peace they had not known they'd been without. "You're home," Sansa clarifies when she pulls back, holding her sister at arm's length. "Though you swore to me when you left you'd not be gone more than a year." She admonishes though her lips curve with a smile. 

Arya has the grace to look down, her dark Stark eyes closing for a beat of silence before they raise back up to Sansa's blue. "I got lost," Arya replies then, a quick chuckle escaping her lips before she smiles upon her sister. "Forgive me?" 

"Since it's you... I'll let it go." Sansa tugs her back into an embrace, relief rushing through her. "But say you will stay with me awhile..." She hates to admit her weakness to this strong willed little sister of hers, but the other of her coming home just to leave again might truly break her. However, when Arya pulls back and looks her in the eyes, Sansa knows she understands. 

"It's as you said... I'm home."

And that's all Sansa has wanted to hear for so long. 


	60. Jon wargs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon misses sansa while in dragonstone, so he wargs into ghost just to see her.

He's thought of her today, all day in fact. He's thought of her so very much that others have noticed- he'd been caught off guard twice by Daenerys alone, so lost in his thoughts of her he'd been. She comes easily, in both his waking thoughts and his late night dreams. That fire kissed hair... The feel of it still haunts his hands. Those pure blue eyes... He still could drown in them, despite the time it's been since he's last looked into them. She's like an imprint upon his soul, a part of him now. 

As he finally closes the door to his chambers, Jon can do little else but sigh in relief, the feeling of being behind a closed door overwhelming. It's here in his rooms that he is free, though still yet trapped upon Dragonstone, here in his rooms he is free from prying eyes. He is free from _her._

The dragon queen is a foe like he's never before encountered. With her soft, white features, she is like the most perfect of dolls. But then she opens her mouth and it is like a dragon personified. She snaps her jaws and those around her cower in fear masked with loyalty. She speaks and they fall at her feet in adoration tainted with misery. Daenerys Targaryen is certainly unlike any woman he's ever met before and it makes him miss Sansa all the more. Where Daenerys is soft, Sansa is steel; where Daenerys is silver, Sansa is gold; where Daenerys is fire, Sansa is ice. He misses her and her sharp edges, he misses the warmth in her sapphire eyes. He misses her. 

Sinking down onto the edge of his bed, Jon realizes he cannot go without seeing her. 

It's been so long that he's linked with Ghost, he thinks for a moment it won't work. But it's only a few moments after he closes his eyes that he realizes he's merged his mind with the wolf's. He opens his eyes, but it is Ghost that is seeing now, and Jon can tell at once he's within her bed chambers. She's pacing the floor before the hearth, her black skirts sweeping across the rushes, red hair undone from its usual braids. _Sansa..._ He thinks, sitting up, Ghost's tail giving a thump against the floor. 

As if she hears him, Sansa pauses in her pacing and turns to face where Ghost sits at the side of her bed. For a moment she regards him and Jon can feel the intensity of her gaze, wishing with all of his heart that it was truly him she was looking at. Sansa crosses the room then, sinking down into a pile of black skirts only to wind her arms around Ghost's massive, shaggy neck. Jon can feel the warmth of her embrace, can feel the strength behind it even in his own body. He never wants her to let go. "What should I do, Ghost?" She whispers into his fur, her words strained with unspoken pain. "I wish Jon were here," her voice is softer still, a thread, a wisp of smoke. Jon's heart breaks, knowing there is something she's facing there and she's all alone. He's not there to offer her the strength she so clearly needs. 

He can do nothing but nuzzle her close, pressing Ghost's wet nose into her neck, relishing in the softness of her laughter as she holds him a little bit closer. For a little while longer he stays linked to Ghost, to her, and it isn't until a maid comes into her room that he returns to his own body. He sits quietly there on his bed, thinking back to the sorrow twinged voice she had spoken in, thinking back to the way she had pressed herself into Ghost as if she had needed an anchor. She needed him and he was here, locked away by a woman who called herself queen. She needed him and he wasn't there. But that was it, wasn't it? He had to get to her. He had to get home.

And so he would, no matter the cost. 


	61. A father's legacy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon doesn't live through the battle against the night king, but sansa holds a piece of him with her.

"They say the fighting is over..." 

Sansa turns when the woman speaks to her. "I've heard," she responds softly, though she turns back to face her father's crumbling statue. At her feet, his head lays, as it had once laid on the dust covered platform in King's Landing. A chill races her spine.

"Come up, my lady," the woman continues, but Sansa shakes her head. 

"Jon said he would come for me here," is all she can say. The woman bites her lip but finally gives in, nodding silently before she turns on her heel and disappears up the crumbling stone steps. Sansa stares hard at the broken statue of her father, recalling the words that Jon had promised her just hours before. _I'll always come back to you._ She touches her belly, where deep inside of her she grows a life he had vowed to come back and protect. It doesn't matter that the survivors have all returned to the outside, it doesn't matter that the bodies of the dead have already been recovered. Jon promised her he would come to her there in the crypts when the battle was over and so there she would wait for him. 

He knows he's dying.

But still yet, he presses on. He made her a promise and he won't die without seeing her face just one more time. And so he forces his legs to keep going, every step like a new knife in his chest. The wound bleeds freely but he does nothing to try and staunch it's flow. There's no saving him, not this time around. Jon knows the battle has been won, but only by the miracle known as Arya Stark. Somehow, someway, she had crept into the godswood and when Theon had taken the blade to his heart, she jumped. And she won. 

Jon stumbles his way down into the passage that leads to the crypts, stumbling over the broken rock, his legs giving way just as he steps onto the ground. His movements must have alerted her for Jon hears her voice and feels her arms come around him a moment before he hits the ground. "Jon! Jon, oh no, Jon!" She's crying as she clings to his bloody, beaten body, he can feel her tears as they drip onto his face. He opens his eyes and sees her beautiful face, pale and tear-stained as she leans over him, cradling him close to her chest. She's warm and soft, she's safe... She's safe. 

"Sansa..." Her name upon his lips is the sweetest sound and Sansa can feel her heart shattering. "I... Love you..." His words are scarcely a whisper and she puts her hand against his chest wound, as if she might stop the blood flow. A moment later, his hand crosses hers and he squeezes. "Give him... Longclaw." She snaps up, shaking her head, her lips moving with words like _don't say that, you promised me, Jon..._ But he raises up that same hand, pressing it against her lips, silencing her. "Give him Longclaw," he says again, knowing the child she carried in her belly would be a son and he only wished he might have gotten to see him grow to be a man. "Promise me." 

She can't breathe or even speak and so she only can nod, tears coursing down her cheeks as Jon smiles. It's right then that the brightness in his eyes fades and his hand falls away. She knows he's gone the moment his lids fall closed over those Stark eyes and the sound that escapes her is unlike anything human. 

And that is where she's found only a short while later, still yet clinging to his body. 

[ x x x ]

"Jon, come here sweetheart. I have something for you." 

The boy approaches, his curls wild as always, his solemn Stark eyes gazing up at her. He is a perfect copy of his father, more Stark than she certainly ever looked. If it weren't for his tall, willowy frame, no one would ever think him to be hers. "What is it, mother?" He asks, bobbing on his feet in excitement- he is typically a stoic child, quite like his namesake had been, though with an easygoing smile. 

Sansa smiles as she turns to the table beside her, where Longclaw sits in its sheath. Her boy is six years old today and she knew it was high time he begun his new life as the heir to the North, as the future King. "It is a sword, a true sword." She watches as his smile widens, though there is surprise there, too. "But it is not just any sword, my sweet, it once belonged to your father." Little Jon knew his father well, though he had never met him. Sansa had made sure of that. "I promised him the day he died that I would give this to you. It is your nameday gift from him." She picks the sword up and first shows him the hilt, where the white wolf is carved into it, a reminder of the wolf that sleeps beneath her chair that very moment. "It is called Longclaw." Sansa explains as she places the sword into her boy's hands, watching him sag beneath the weight of it. "Someday you will wield it with ease, as your father did." She smiles, thinking of Jon then, her heart heavy and yet so very light. "Use this sword and protect those you love, protect the North from those who might do it harm." He nods, every inch his father, and she leans in to wrap her arms around him, the sword pressed between them. 

Sansa breathes in her son's scent and hugs him a little tighter, knowing Jon would have been so very proud of their boy. Of their son. He was the Jon Stark her Jon had always wanted to be, his namesake that would grow into his own name the Young White Wolf, the future King in the North. And in that moment, they both could feel his presence, so strong it was as if he were there, smiling upon them. 


	62. One year apart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon returns from his year long banishment to the wall and finds sansa alone in the godswood.

Once she had said she would never pray again.

Those gods, both Old and New, had seemingly ignored her pleas all those long years at King's Landing and so she had chosen to forgo them altogether. For what prayer would have saved her from Ramsay Bolton, anyways? In the long months since she and Jon had reclaimed Winterfell, in the endless winter of the fight against the Night King, and of course all that had transpired in the fight for the Iron Throne, Sansa had still yet to find her voice of prayer again. Rather, she had spent endless hours in the godswood with those she loved most; Bran, Arya, even Jon... Now, she was alone again and the godswood had become the only place she could come without being bothered.

This had been a particularly trying day, however, and her feet steered her down the snowy path towards the heart tree. Taking her usual spot, she sank to the ground in a heap of black skirts, a sigh escaping her in a huff of white. Winter illness was claiming lives of children and elderly alike in Wintertown and though it had yet to reach Winterfell, it was not a matter of if but rather when. And though Lord Royce would have been beside himself to know she had snuck out into the cold winter night, Sansa could only offer her loyal Hand a silent apology before she had stole away into the dark. 

As it so often does when she lays in bed at night, shed of her new identity as queen, she thinks of Jon. It's been so long since she's last seen him, last held him... She feels the familiar chill seeping into her bones as she thinks of the man she had let go that day in King's Landing. Though she has sent letters, pardons, requests... They have all gone ignored. Sansa supposes she can't blame him for ignoring her, she might if she were in his shoes. It was, after all, quite her fault that Jon found himself banished to the Wall at all. 

"I am sorry, you know," she speaks into the void, wishing with every piece of her that he was there. That she could have felt him wrap his arms around her and press a kiss to her tingling lips. She only wants him to know how sorry she is for what's happened, that she never meant for him to be sent away. The only place he should have been was beside her. 

It's begun to snow when Jon comes upon her, seated there beneath the heart tree. 

For several moments, he can only watch her in silence, hidden behind a not so distant tree. She's wrapped in black furs, the hood of her cloak pushed back enough that he can catch sight of her vibrant red hair. He can't help but to smile at the sight of her and he realizes as much as he wants to hold her, he could be content with just watching her forever. 

One long year has passed since he's last seen her, though the thought of her is seldom far from his mind. She haunts him like a ghost, she's an imprint upon his heart. For one long year, he has kept his distance because he had to. He had a lot to forgive himself for and it was only out there, alone, that he felt he could truly atone for what he had done. Though it's a journey not yet finished, his need to see her, to hold her, suddenly outweighed any other feeling inside him.

And that was how he found himself where he was right then, hiding behind a tree in the godswood. This hadn't been his plan, either, it just seemed to be working out this way. Almost as if this was... Meant to be. 

_I am sorry, you know,_ her words echo along the breeze, drawing him free from his thoughts. Across the way, Jon catches sight of Ghost in the trees, Sansa's scent on his nose. "I wish you were here," she goes on in a soft voice that has Jon taking a single step forward, but he pauses as Ghost comes rushing from the trees, nearly toppling the surprised queen in his attempt to lick her face. "Ghost!" Sansa is torn between laughing and crying as she buries her face in the wolf's shaggy neck. "What are you doing here... Jon... Is Jon...?" Her voice is muffled and Ghost is whining softly as he presses his cold nose into her hair. 

Taking this as his moment, Jon steps out from behind the tree he's been hiding behind, slowly approaching where she sits with Ghost. HIs wolf is the first to look up, glaring red eyes peering at him from across Sansa's shoulder. The crunch of snow beneath is feet is enough to alert her and she's turning then, following Ghost's line of sight to fall upon where Jon now stands. 

He's not sure how much time passes, but he realizes then just how easy it is to lose himself in those sapphire blue eyes. "Hello, Sansa." He greets as she slowly lets her arms fall from around Ghost, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she rises up to her feet. "No... My queen." He corrects himself as he comes to stand closer to her, hand to Longclaw as if he is prepared to make a vow to her. But she's there before he can make another move, a choked sob escaping her lips as she buries her face into the crook of his shoulder. Jon sucks in a breath and closes his eyes, arms finding their place around her waist. "I'm back," his voice is warm against the shell of her ear and he feels her relax against him, though she draws back just enough to look him in the face. Tears cling to her lashes but her rosy lips curve with a radiant smile before she gives a single nod. 

"You're home," she clarifies before he leans in and kisses her, the only appropriate response. 


	63. Bring him back.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: when sansa arrives at castle black after escaping ramsay, jon is still yet dead.

As she rides through the castle gates, something feels wrong.

The feels colder than usual, the silence ringing in her ears as she allows Brienne to help her down from her horse. All around her, strange men stare at her, their blinking eyes stunned at the sight of a woman riding into their courtyard. Sansa knows fear, but she feels none of it from these men, whoever they are. The only thought that consumes her is Jon- her last remaining brother, the only family she has left. It is him that she thinks of, no one else.

Two men approach and Brienne steps in front of her, blocking her from their sight, a hand on the sword strapped to her hip. "Who are you?" One man asks, his dark hair coated with the falling snow. The other man is tall, as tall as Brienne, with a shock of hair that is more orange than red, a man that looks less like a North man and more like a wildling. 

Brienne opens her mouth to respond, but Sansa steps around her, holding her head high for the first time in months, in years. "I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell, I've come looking for my brother Jon Snow." She speaks in a tone that sounds nothing like herself- this is the voice of the North, the voice of the Lady of Winterfell. The person she was supposed to be. In front of her, the two men exchange a look and she feels a little less confident. "He is here, is he not?" She knows Jon to be the Lord Commander here at Castle Black, the leader of the Night's Watch, the uniter of the North and the free folk. 

"Should have known a lady as pretty as her wouldn't come looking for the little crow for any other reason," the redheaded man says, a half hearted laugh falling from his lips. He looks again at the dark haired man, a silent question falling between them.

"White walkers and watchmen alike have been after him," the dark haired man sighs, shaking his head. Neither man can find the words to use to tell this girl before them the truth- not when she stands there, pale faced and bruised, shaking in her thin cloak. "Let's get you inside," the man goes on, gesturing for Sansa and her companions to follow after him. "The name's Edd," he says as they climb the stairs up into a large room, empty save for several long tables. "That there is Tormund." He points to the larger man, who has yet to take his eyes off of Brienne, who's hand is still yet upon the hilt of her blade. 

"Where is Jon?" Sansa asks, her blue eyes moving from man to man, wondering why Jon has not appeared to her. Before either man can speak, the door opens and in darts a white blur, a giant wolf that nearly knocks Sansa over in his bid to reach her. "Ghost!" She gives a delighted cry as she sinks down, wrapping her arms around the wolf as he licks her face. If Ghost was here, then surely Jon was, too. Both men are even more surprised by this- even they were somewhat hesitant around the direwolf, but this girl's joy in seeing him (and the wolf's for her) was enough proof that she was who she said she was.

As she rises back up from the floor, her eyes fall upon the man called Edd. He is dressed in black like any other man of the Night's Watch would be. "Little lady... Jon Snow is dead." It is the other man, Tormund, that speaks. His words are solemn and slow, but they ring out like a slap in her face. Sansa turns bewildered eyes upon him instead, her mouth working but not a single sound comes out. "I am sorry," he adds quickly, reaching up to run a hand through his unruly hair. "But he is dead two days now." 

She can't believe it. She_ won't_ believe it. 

Suddenly, the world around her is spinning and Brienne's strong, but warm touch is there to steady her, to lead her towards the nearest bench. "It cannot be true," she whispers miserably, thinking of the brother she knew from childhood. They had not been close, that was true, but he was her half brother all the same. They were the last of the Starks, the only family each other had. But now... Now she was alone. 

Tears fill her eyes and she bows her head, uncertain now of what will become of her. Without Jon, what is she to do? "Would you like to see him?" It is Edd that speaks and she raises her face back up, tears tracing the curve of her cheeks. "He is... Laid out in another room." In truth, he had been laying there in that other room for two days now at the insistence of the red woman, who claimed the Lord of Light would bring Jon back, the ritual was soon to begin in fact. It was odd indeed that Jon's only surviving sister arrived there at Castle Black on the very morning of when the ritual was to take place. 

At once she leaps to her feet, nodding. "Yes," she exclaims, uncaring of how dizzy, how weak she feels. She cannot go on without at least seeing him, dead or not. And so Edd and Tormund once again lead her away, this time down the outside corridor and into a room with the door propped wide open. 

Inside, she finds a woman dressed in all red, standing beside a single table with a body laid out across it. Sansa's breath catches in her throat as she steps inside, shivering from fear and cold. Another man stands across the room, his beard mostly gray, but his face is kind as he looks up at her from where he sits. "Sansa Stark," the red woman breathes when her eyes fall upon the girl that has suddenly appeared in the doorway. She recalls the prophecy she spoke to Jon Snow only days before, about this same girl she sees standing there now. If only she had come days sooner. But taking in the sight of her, she can see that she's not come here from a life of happiness. No... This is a girl that has suffered cruelty at the hands of men. "You've come." It seems almost fitting, in truth, that she would come on this day though, of all days. Her presence is enough proof that Jon Snow was meant to live.

But all step aside, if only for the moment, to allow the young woman the space to approach her brother's body. Sansa walks quietly towards the table where Jon lays, her heart hammering hard against her ribcage. He's nude aside from a modesty cloth and this gives her the chance to see the red, angry wound across his chest, a knife wound, she notes. With a shaking hand, Sansa reaches out to touch his cold cheek, fingertips tracing along his jaw, hoping with all of her might that he would open his eyes to look at her. But, he doesn't, of course he doesn't. 

"He could live again, you know." The red woman speaks after several minutes of silence, prompting Sansa to turn around from where she stands. "The lord of light commands it, in truth." Sansa blinks, uncertainty clouding her eyes. She knows little of this "lord of light" but in that moment, she would give anything at all if it meant Jon could live again. 

"Do it." She commands and the red woman nods, a slow smile spreading across her lips. 

[ x x x ]

When the first breath returns to Jon's lungs and he opens his eyes, it is Sansa that he sees. 

Those clear blue eyes, that Tully red hair, it is like a dream come to life. He shoots upwards, breathing hard, limbs flailing, but it is her soft, warm touch that calms him. It is the sound of her voice that steadies his racing heart. She draws him into her embrace, slow and steady, soft and warm, his face buried into her shoulder as his arms wrap around her waist. She leans into him, holding onto him as tightly as he holds onto her, tears spilling from her eyes as she strokes his wild curls, saying a prayer to any god out there that might have been listening. 

He's alive... He's alive. 

Those words are on repeat inside of her head, her heart. She doesn't dare believe it until she hears it, the raspy whisper of her name. "Sansa..." She pulls back and when Jon's eyes find hers, she begins to cry, soft sobs that force him to draw her into his embrace instead, the warmth of her body filling him up, threatening to overflow. 

For the first time in what feels like forever, he feels whole again. 


	64. I learned to do die a long time ago.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: "I learned to die a long time ago" dialogue prompt list. used it as an excuse to rewrite the tent scene, which is one of my favorite scenes.

"It's not enough!" 

Her stiff words fill the expanse of space between them and Jon stares back at her with eyes so dark, so wild, she can barely stand to remain locked in gaze with him. "It's all we have," he replies, softer than ever before, sorrow tainting his steady gaze. He moves as if he means to reach for her, as if he means to touch her. 

She can't bear it and she steps back with a slight shake of her head. "I won't go back to him alive, do you understand me?" Her words are hollow, but they are true. She won't go back to Ramsay Bolton alive. He can have her corpse and nothing more. Jon stares back at her as if she's struck him and she knows in a way, she has. 

But then he sputters back to life, breaking eye contact only so he can shake his head. "I won't let him touch you ever again," he spits out every word with so much conviction Sansa almost believes him. But she knows better. She might only be a stupid girl, but she knows the army Jon has pulled together isn't enough. She knows Ramsay better than any other person out there and she knows, it isn't enough. "I'll protect you, I promise," he goes on, softer now, his hand once more reaching for her. This time she lets him gently touch her hand, the touch sending shockwaves of warmth through her every limb. When he looks at her like this, she almost dares to believe him. Almost.

But Sansa has been jaded one or two times too many and she can't let go of what will happen to her if he loses the fight. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees and feels what would become of her if she went back to Ramsay's grasp. The pain and the suffering he had put her through would be nothing compared to what she could expect if Jon lost this fight. Even now, weeks later, she can still feel it in her bones what Ramsay had already done to her. She can only begin to imagine the torture that would come next and it sickens her to her very core. She can't go back to that, she won't go back to that. "No one can protect anyone," she speaks softly, shaking her head as she draws her hand from his. Jon's face falls and she hates herself for doing this to him the night before the battle. But she needs him to know, she needs him to understand. "I learned how to die a long time ago," her words are a thread, a whisper in the night. But Jon looks up as if she's screamed and his gaze is so intense she must look away. 

A moment later, she turns and disappears through the flap of his tent, out into the cold winter night, leaving him there alone. He sinks into a chair and slides his hands over his face, able to only listen to the whirling snow outside his tent.

[ x x x ]

When he steps out of the red priestess' tent a short while later, he feels only a little better knowing that at least in the end, if he loses, he too will die. He cannot live on in a world without Sansa, in a world where he has failed her. He thinks back to the words she had spoken to him in his tent, I learned to die a long time ago, words that have resonated with him ever since. He too had learned to die, he had died, and he was willing to step back into the darkness if he failed her. 

But he wouldn't. 

Jon Snow was a man of his word and he swore on everything that he would come out the victor in this fight. He would reclaim their home, her birthright, and he would stand beside her, keeping her safe, for the rest of his life. That was his promise. 


	65. The key to the North.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: jon is trying to navigate his angry, jealous feelings when daenerys wishes to remarry sansa & tyrion to strengthen her ties with the north.

After several minutes of searching for her, Jon gives up and instead seeks out Lord Royce. The older man is seated in the library, scrolls scattered in front of him, and he only looks up at the sound of Jon's foosteps. "Your grace.... Ah, my lord," he says as he rises to his feet, uncertain of the way to greet this young man now before him. Once his king, now a lord? He would have preferred to call him King, if anyone happened to ask for his opinion. 

Jon waves the man back into his chair as he approaches the table he sits at. This man had stood by Sansa all these long weeks since he'd left for Dragonstone and it had become apparent to him that he was almost always at her side. "Have you seen my sister?" He asks, though the term seems strange to use now, considering what he knows. Though Jon knows no one else knows yet and he must navigate his world with this secret hanging over his head. "I have been looking everywhere for her, but I keep coming up empty." 

Lord Royce offers him a small smile before he nods. "She told me she was going to speak with Lord Tyrion, I saw them strolling the gardens only moments ago," he had glanced out the window in the main hall just before arriving in the library, where sure enough he had seen the Lady of Winterfell walking alongside the Lannister imp among the frozen gardens. What was once a beautiful array of flowers was now frozen and dead. He notices how Jon's face darkens, hardens, but he keeps his comments to himself. Lord Royce would never dream of speaking his mind about the relationship between his Lady and his Lord, though certainly they were closer than most siblings seemed to be. He has always attributed it to what they have gone through together, to what Jon saved Sansa from. Besides, her happiness was all that mattered to him in truth. Lord Royce had grown to care for the young woman as his own and so long as she was happy in life, he was as well. 

"Thank you," Jon says before he nods, turning on his heel and slipping back into the hall. With Tyrion, he wonders, unable to stop the wave of jealousy that rushes through him. He made his way down the hall and out the double doors into the courtyard, making his way around back towards where the once luscious gardens stood. Sure enough, as he grew closer, Jon could catch sight of her vivid red hair as she slowly made her way down the snow covered pathway, Tyrion beside her. Jon is remembering Daenerys' words to him only the night before._ Lady Stark and my Hand Tyrion were once married, you know. Jon had known. I have given it some thought and to secure a better alliance between the North and my crown, I would like to have the marriage reinstated._ When he had returned to his rooms that night, he had upended the table in frustration.

The pair is approaching him then and Jon can't help but to appreciate the beauty that is Sansa; with her fire kissed hair and icy blue eyes, she is such a stark contrast to the dragon queen that it melts his heart. "Jon," she breathes as they come closer, her smile radiant as she tilts her head to the side, blue eyes finding his. Her cheeks are twin blooms of color, as if she had been laughing alongside the Lannister, and he seethes with jealousy. He cannot bare the thought of her on another man's arm, of her courting a man that was not him in their very own home. Beside her, Tyrion has reached up to place hand to her elbow, as if he is already courting her for marriage. And as if he feels his sharp gaze upon the touch, Tyrion rescinds his grip and steps aside, excusing himself from the pair and leaving them to stand there at the garden's entrance. 

"I am surprised to see you with him," Jon says the moment the imp is out of earshot and though Sansa's eyes narrow slightly, her lips retain their smile. 

"Is it not what I am supposed to do, befriend our enemy?" She asks and Jon knows they tred dangerous waters here. He knows he should be honest with her, that everything he's done up until now has been for her... And yet, he knows now is not yet the right time. "He was speaking of marriage." She says this as if she means to disarm him with the info, but when his face does not change, hers falls. "Ah, so she has already spoken to you of it." She says softly, moving as if she means to push past him, though Jon grabs her arm to keep her there. "I suppose you have already given her permission to marry me off as she sees fit," she hisses, her gaze sharp, her words sharper. 

"I won't allow it," he says gruffly, shaking his head. "I won't allow you to marry him. No matter who orders it, I won't allow you to marry anyone you do not wish to." In truth, he writhes with jealousy, thinking of another man in her bed, another man on her arm. It went beyond brotherly protection, it went beyond anything he has ever felt in all of his life. 

Her breath catches in her throat at his words, his hand yet to fall from where it gently grips her arm. "Thank you," is all she can finally say, her face softening, the anger rushing from her in a single sigh. "Won't your queen be angry with you for defying her?" Jon feels a prickle of worry, not for himself, but for her. Sansa will only be yet another pawn in Daenerys' game and she will be angry if she cannot use her as she sees fit. But when it came to Sansa... He would not budge. He would not allow for her to be unhappy. Not for anyone. "It sounds like she's quite adamant about rekindling our marriage." Such a wedding would indeed be beneficial to the dragon queen. 

"She will strengthen her alliance with us another way," Jon says, opening his mouth to continue when she interrupts him. 

"By marrying you?" The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. She's reminded of their conversation from a few nights before, when she had asked him if he had given her the North because he loved her. His answer had been deflective, an answer that had left her with far more questions. 

"I will not marry her," he responds quietly, voicing the thought that had long been inside of his brain, long before he knew the truth of his birth. Her eyes widen slightly and her lips curve with a new sort of smile, though she does not speak. A moment like this, with a hairsbreadth of space between them, with his hand still lingering upon his arm... He longed for them. Any moment with her was one he would commit to memory, to hold with him all his days. "It's cold, we should go inside." He means to take his hand from her then, but she smiles and instead takes a hold of his arm, as if they were courtiers in a royal court, as if they were beyond a pair of siblings. 

Neither of them would yet tell the other how worried they had been over the other's potential marriage, nor how it had felt like a weight raised from their shoulders to learn neither would marry elsewhere. Perhaps someday they would have the chance to speak of it, but for now, they would live with the relief in their own hearts. 


	66. Why do I love you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request; "why do I love you?" dialogue prompt list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just as a note, i have a headcanon that while sansa doesn't warg like her siblings, she can hear the wind speaking. i got the idea from "the white queen" where elizabeth of york and her mother elizabeth woodville can hear the river whispering to them. dont ask me why this prompt brought it out, it just did haha.

She's awake in the night, pacing the room like a caged animal.

In the hearth, the fire burns brightly, casting the room into a golden glow, though the shadows on the wall haunt her like her nightmares. She hasn't slept in what feels like weeks, she hasn't eaten in what feels like days. Outside, the snow falls and the cold comes in through every crack, proving that it was as her father had always said... _Winter is coming._

And yet... Winter wasn't coming, winter was already here. 

Winter was here and they were playing the most dangerous of games. Within the walls of Winterfell slept the enemy, though it felt like she was the only one who knew. Daenerys Targaryen was not their savior, was not their rightful queen. She was a tyrant in a dress that threatened to burn anyone who did not bend to her will, who did not kiss the ground she walked upon. 

Sansa has to wonder when she'll be next. 

She crosses the room to stand at the window, hand raising up to press against the frosty pane of glass. She can't even feel the cold anymore. She wishes she could. Leaning in, she breathes against the glass and watches the droplets of water race down the window to drop to the floor at her feet, looking back up only a moment later so she can rub away the frost and the water to peer out into the darkness of the storm outside. The wind is raging and she swears she can hear it whispering to her. It is like a howl of a wolf, telling her to be vigilant, to be safe, to be smart. 

A knock on her door pulls her from her thoughts. 

She knows only one person who would knock so late into the night and so when she opens the door, she's not surprised to see him standing there. Jon looks as sleepless as she feels and she beckons him inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. "I thought you might be asleep," he says as he steps into the center of the room, noting her still neatly made bed and the black gown she still wears. He recalls that afternoon in the great hall, when she had snapped at Daenerys like a warrior queen, with her red hair tied back in braids and her sapphire eyes sharper than steel. 

"The storm kept me up," she says as she comes to stand in front of him, not quite lying, not quite telling the truth. "The wind is howling." She explains, listening yet again to the scream of the storm outside, as if she can hear the words it wants the world to know. The words that the world ignores. Jon glances over his shoulder to the window she had once been looking out, already covered in a thin sheet of frost and when he turns back, she's frowning. "You should be resting," she gestures for him to find a chair and she moves a few steps closer to the fire, the heat reminding her of the warmth of his embrace. "The battle..." She trails off, shaking her head as she turns away from him. 

She feels his presence before anything else.

He's so close to her she can feel the heat of his body, far more intense than that of the fire she stands before. When his arms wrap around her, she cannot help but to give into his touch, so warm, so strong. She slides her hands into place against his forearms, tilting her head back just enough so his mouth can find hers if he wishes. He doesn't. She leans against him anyways, swaying in time with the storm outside. "Why do I love you?" She asks as tears cling to her lashes, the truth of her sleepless nights suddenly there on the tip of her tongue. Jon only tugs her closer though she's not certain how that's even possible. "When you so clearly love her?" 

At her words, he releases her, turning her so he can force her to look at him. "I told you... I don't love her." He whispers, anguished, his hands now on her shoulders. "I don't love her." Her repeats with a shake of his dark head, as if those four words were enough to make her understand._ I love you,_ those are the only three words he needs to say, the only ones she needs to hear. So why won't they come? 

He's afraid, in truth.

He's afraid of what happens tomorrow, of what happens the next day. He's afraid of what Daenerys will do to her, she's already on the edge when it comes to Sansa... He can't imagine what she will do if she found out the truth about them. He's afraid of what happens if he dies in the fight against the Night King and leaves her alone in the world. Jon knows that she loves him and part of her already knows he loves her back... And yet, neither of them have ever felt more lonely. 

"What is the storm saying?" He asks instead and she draws back, head tilting, red hair a cascade of waves over a shoulder. "I can't hear it like you do." This is true- she hears whispers, he hears wind. She hears howls, he hears the sound of rustling trees. 

"That you're making a mistake." Her stoic words make him blink and it's as if she's in a trance, staring at him but he knows she isn't really seeing him. "She'll burn it all." He knows she means Daenerys and he longs to hear more, but she's the one who blinks now, a look of confusion appearing. "The storm has stopped." She pushes past him to stand at the window as she had done before his arrival, though this time she forces it open, the rush of cold air bringing goosebumps to her skin. "Why..." Her voice is soft, trailing off as she turns back aound to face him, though the window remains open behind her. "I'm afraid for you," she admits softly and Jon closes the gap between them, pulling her into his embrace before she can utter another word. 

He holds onto her as she cries into his shoulder, speaking soft words of comfort as he strokes her long red hair. They stand there for what could be hours or days, he loses track of time with her, until she is the one who pulls back and wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her gown. "I don't love her, Sansa." He says again, this time with force, this time with meaning. Her blue eyes, now swollen and red, are still so beautiful. "When the battle is over... When I come back to you... I will tell you the truth." For several beats of silence she merely stares back at him until she softens, she understands. She always does. 

She nods. 

And he goes back to holding her, for what else can he do?

[ x x x ]

The night after the battle, after the feast, he finds himself at her chamber door again. 

Before he can knock, she's opening the door, standing there in her scaled gown with the firelight framing her from behind. "Sansa..." Her name has never sounded lovelier than when he's whispering it. She steps back, giving him the space to come inside, and she shuts the door behind him a moment before his hands are upon her. 

His kiss is hungry, his kiss is full of hundreds of unspoken things between them. 

When he breaks it, finally, it's to tilt his forehead against hers, lips so close he can feel when hers curve with a smile. "The wind told me," she whispers, leaning into the warmth of his embrace. "It told me you would live." The wind had howled so loudly she could hear it in the crypts, she could hear it over the soft crying of the women and children. No one else could hear it, but she could. She heard it say over and over again, _he will live because you love him, he will live only to come back to you. _

"I told you I would come back to tell you the truth," he reminds her, tightening his hold on her hips.

"What's the truth?" 

He smiles, slow and true, his heart beating fast in his chest. "That I love _you_," he says, his breath warm against the hell of her ear as he leans back in, breathing in the scent of rose water on her hair. "I love you, Sansa, no matter how it's seemed since I've come home." She's sinking into him and he can feel her steady pulse against his lips as he kisses her neck, thankful for the warmth of her skin against his palm. 

He's thankful to hold her, to touch her, to feel her. He's thankful to kiss her, to love her, to know her. In an instant, it all could have been taken from him. When he had stepped out onto that battlefield, anything could have happened, any one of the enemies could have been the one to claim his life. And her... It could have been her down there in the crypts, dead by the blade of her own dead ancestor. Her own brother had raised a blade to a child in his reanimated state and it could have been her. It could have been her. 

"Jon..." Her soft voice brings him back and he leans in, kissing her once again.

After all, it's the only thing that feels right. 


	67. Little crow... he needs your help.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: tormund sets out to save jon from his path of self destruction after his return to castle black.

He's not left his room in what feels like days. 

He sees little purpose in it now and though he leaves to see to his various duties, most hours you can find Jon Snow locked into the chambers he once resided in so many moons ago. He is as frozen as the North, his heart chilled, his soul like ice. All bit of warmth has left him, left behind at Winterfell, all by his own choosing. He spends most of his spare time drinking until he can feel no more pain, though in a way he only trades one type of pain for another. 

Jon supposes he could have fought the ruling- unjust as so many seemed to call it- but here... Far out North, near the wall at Castle Black, Jon is serving a punishment not dealt by a King nor a Queen. It is a punishment given to him by his own self, penance for the lies he's been telling all this time. He had lied to Daenerys, gaining her alliance in any way possible- and though he did it for the family he loved, he knew it to be wrong. But more than that, he lied to his family, he lied to her. 

Sansa tried to tell him, she told him he had to be smarter than Robb or father- Ned Stark, the man he called father, but now knew was his uncle. Instead, he'd been far more stupid than either one of them. He had made mistakes that nearly cost him everything he had ever loved. In the end, he killed Daenerys to make right what he had done by bringing her to King's Landing. And to protect Sansa, who surely would have fallen beneath Drogon's fire the moment crown sat upon thr Targaryen queen's head. 

After all of that, he doesn't deserve to be near her- he had nearly failed in his vow to protect her and had kept the truth to himself, not trusting that she could help him in his plans to protect the North from the Night King and even from Daenerys herself. Jon knows now he should have relied on her, on all of them. His punishment for that was to be here, at the wall, away from those he loved most.

And so it was from there that he heard of Arya's ship setting sail for the world unknown, rumor that Gendry Baratheon sailed away from Storm's End with her, leaving Ser Davos to keep the castle. It was from there that he heard of Bran's first declaration- that the rebuilding of King's Landing's city would be started and finished before the castle's. And it was from there that he heard of the crowning of a new Queen in the North. It was as he had told her that last day, that last moment... _Ned Stark's daughter will speak for them..._ _She's the best they could ask for._ She consumes him; the thought of her sweet smelling hair and petal soft skin... He dreams of her, does nothing but think of her... Does nothing but wish to be beside her again. Jon never knew being apart from her this way could cause such pain. 

"Little crow?" 

Jon looks up, torn from the thought of her, and finds himself staring back at Tormund. The man eyes him with a sigh, his footsteps heavy as he crosses the room to stand before Jon where he sits beside the fire. "You look like shit," Tormund grunts, his face not betraying his true concern for the young man. Jon scoffs though, the touch of a smile tugging at his lips. "The men said you didn't come down this morning." He goes on, taking note of the several bottles of ale laying around the room, which is in stages of disarray. Tormund also can see the unopened letters from the Northern queen littering his desk and as he swivels his head back to face Jon, he knows he cannot help him. Not anymore. "Get yourself together, little crow," Tormund says softly before he reaches for Jon's head, touching his curls for a single moment. And then he's gone from the room, leaving Jon brimming with emotion as he fights to control the storm that rages inside of him. 

It's as Tormund stalks down the hall that he makes up his mind what he's going to do. His eyes fall on a young Night's Watch crow and beckons him closer. "Ready a horse, now. There's someone I need to go see." 

[ x x x ]

"Your grace, a rider at the gate... He'd like to speak to you." 

Sansa looks up from where she sits at her desk; she's tucked into her solar for the afternoon under the pretense of working, but she's been sitting there for what very well could have been hours now, doing nothing but moping. She knows it's high time she buck up and let it go... But no matter how hard she tries, there's no letting Jon go. She keeps herself busy most days, throwing herself into every and any matter she can, ignoring the Lord's when they tell her it's something small that they can handle. Every other thought she's forced to think of keeps the ones of him at bay.

But at night... 

At night, all she can do is think about him. 

She sighs, pushing back from the desk to rise up to her feet. "Who is it?" There was no one that she was expecting, though she thought perhaps it was a message from Bran- it was nearing two weeks since her last letter was sent to him and usually he'd replied back by now. 

"It's..." Lord Royce trails off as she rises to her feet, sounding hesitant. But one quick glance from his queen has him speaking on. "It's that Tormund fellow, the one... With Jon." At his words, Sansa sinks back into her chair. For a moment, Lord Royce worries that this has upset his queen, but it only takes another second for her to take a deep breath and compose herself; all surprise, all concern fades from her features and she adopts her queenly mask, one he knows she wears far too often. One he wishes she never had to wear again. He only wanted happiness for this young queen of his and it felt like she might never truly have what she wanted. "I can send him away.." He begins, but she shakes her head.

"No. Send him in." 

And so he does as he's bid.

It only takes a few minutes for the door to open and in comes the large, redheaded man. Tormund crosses into the room and at once offers this queen a bow. "Tormund," she greets with that voice of hers, raising her sapphire colored eyes to meet his with a pleasant sort of smile. "I do hope you bring with you a good reason why Jon continues to ignore every letter I've sent him since my return to Winterfell nearly a year ago." The words leave her lips before she can stop them and at once she's crimson. Tormund grins to ease the tension, happy to see the mask she wore slipping away. It seemed like Jon Snow was not the only one suffering without the other. 

"I wish it were so, your grace," he replies in his rough sort of way, reaching up to rub the back of his head. He wonders if she knows how her face falls when he speaks. "Little crow needs you, your grace." Tormund says without hesitation, knowing there was little need for any sense of propriety in a moment such as this. "He needs someone to save him from himself. That can only be you." Her blue eyes widen as her mouth forms a tight little frown, shifting in her chair for only a moment before she gives a single nod. 

"Take me to him."

[ x x x ]

Jon is so lost in his mind that he doesn't notice when Ghost raises his head up from the floor, ear twitching with the sound of familiar footfalls outside the door. It isn't until the wolf lets out an excited sort of bark that Jon raises his eyes from the fire, an untouched goblet of ale in his hands. "Little crow," Tormund singsongs as he throws open the door. "I've found you a woman. Nothing cheers a man up like a pretty girl." Jon is opening his mouth to protest when Ghost leaps to his feet, nearly running across the room to reach the young woman that's stepped into his room.

The goblet of ale falls from his hands, crashing noisly to the ground, spilling the amber colored liquid across the rushes. "Sansa..." Her name is on his lips as she laughs, gently pushing Ghost down from her shoulders, though the wolf dances around her feet in his excitement. Jon has risen to his feet now, stepping around the spilled ale, coming to stand at the center of the room. Her eyes have locked onto his and neither notice when Tormund softly calls to Ghost, beckoning the wolf from the room and shutting the door quietly behind him. "Sansa..." He speaks her name again, as if testing it, as if to be certain she would not just simply vanish from his very sight. 

But then she smiles and he feels something so strong, so true, rush through him that it nearly brings him to his knees. And then there she is, arms winding around him, anchoring him back to a world of warmth. "I'm here," is all she whispers as she holds on fast, burying her face into his neck as Jon wraps his arms around her waist. "I'm never leaving you again." 

That's the only thing he's ever wanted to hear. 


	68. The happiest man in Westeros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: sansa is pregnant with jon's child when he comes home from dragonstone with dany and her dragons.

When he comes to her rooms that night, she's sitting before the fire waiting. 

At the sound of the door opening, Sansa turns, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of his face. "Sansa," he murmurs as he crosses the room, taking her into his arms the moment she had rose up to her feet. He has been waiting all day for this moment, to hold her in his arms as he couldn't do that morning upon his arrival back to Winterfell. "I've missed you," he breathes into her ear, inhaling the sweet rose water that scents her hair. He's smelled that even in his dreams of her. Jon draws back, holding her at arm's length, taking note only then of her slight pallor, her sapphire eyes seemingly too bright for her pale face. She looks tired, as if she's not slept soundly in all the time he's been away. They wrote often and she had said things were going well at home, that there was only a little unrest from the Lords but she felt like it was all under control. That morning she had seemed herself, never once alerting him that things were amiss. "You are unwell, sweetheart," he says at once, his hand reaching up to stroke her petal soft skin. 

She's been rehearsing what she might say to him all these weeks he'd been away, but now that he's here Sansa can't find the words to say. "I'm not unwell, I'm just..." She pauses, shaking her head as she takes hold of his hand, drawing it further down her body until his palm is pressed against her abdomen instead. It takes Jon only a moment to realize what she implies and at once his eyes are widening, their gaze moving from her stomach to her face several times before resting on her face. "That night... Before you left for Dragonstone..." She whispers, reminding him of the single night of passion they had shared, a night he had relived over and over since leaving her side. The thought of her had been all that kept him going those long nights in Dragonstone, at Daenerys' side. The only thing that forced him on, doing things he wasn't proud of, but doing them to ensure her safety, as well as the North's. "Oh, Jon, please say something!" She implores, sapphire eyes filling with tears as she clings to his tunic, fear written plainly across her features. Could it be possible that he was not happy? That in the end his plan to fool Daenerys into helping him defend Winterfell from the Night King had resulted in him falling for her? The dragon queen was lovely, all soft edges, with hair so silver it was almost white. She couldn't blame him, she supposed, for falling for such a beautiful creature such as Daernerys Targaryen. 

Jon felt his breath catch, his knees wobbling beneath his breeches, his heart beat steady in his chest. "You've made me the happiest man in all of Westeros," he speaks when he finds his voice, drawing her close to his chest, breathing her in. Inside, he worries, but he worries because now there is just so much more to protect. But a family.. It's all he's ever wanted, after all. "I'll protect you... Both of you," he whispers, putting his hand back to her stomach, smiling when she slips hers over his, giving it a squeeze. "Marry me. Tomorrow morning. Meet me in the godswood, tell no one." They are half siblings, but he won't let his child grow up a bastard nor will he taint her good name by having a baby out of wedlock. There would be talk of course, talk of how two children born of the same father could marry and produce children, but he cared not about that. In truth, even if they had to run away to a place where they were unknown, he would do it, if it meant protecting them both. And it's clear that Sansa doesn't care either, for she gives a single nod, and Jon draws her into his warm embrace once again.

She was all that mattered to him... And their unborn child, of course. He would do anything to protect them. He would face Daenerys' wrath, even her dragon fire. He would face the Northern lords anger and even the slander of his own name. But he would protect her and their child, even if it was the last thing that he did. 


	69. I thought of you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: while facing the undead dragon, jon sees sansa in the godswood. the only important thing for him is reaching her.

He just wants to reach the Godswood, he just wants to protect Bran. He just wants to stop the Night King before it's too late. Jon stares up at what used to be a living dragon, reduced to being an ice puppet pulled along by the strings of the Night King, and knows his only way to Bran's side is just past this damned dragon. If he looks past it, he will see the godswood, he will see Bran there and at least know he still yet lives.

And so he cranes his neck from behind the rock he cowers behind and it's not Bran that he sees. It's her, it's Sansa. Her red hair is like beacon in the darkness, shining in the torchlight that Theon holds standing before her. Jon feels his stomach sink to his knees, his breath stolen from his very lungs. What was she doing there? Arya had sworn she sent her down to the crypts where she would be kept safe from harm. His heart begins to pound in a way it hadn't been until that very moment. Suddenly, there was a new reason for him to reach the godswood. And as much as he loved Bran, it was one more important than him. 

Jon goes to rise up, but yet again he's forced down as Viserion blasts him with another wave of blue fire. It's only then he sees movement to his other side, a small figure darting around the rocks, so small and quick she's undetected by the dragon. Jon knows it's Arya and he rises up just as Viserion makes to turn, as if he's noticed her then, and he screams as the dragon turns back to him. "GOOOO!" This might be it, this moment very well could be his last. He's entrusting his duty to Arya, he knows that now. He only hopes she makes it in time. 

And so he closes his eyes and thinks of her; of her sweet smelling red hair, so soft it slips between his fingers like silk. Of her lips, even softer still, and warm when he kisses them. Of her blue eyes, brighter than even the rarest of sapphires. He's only glad he told her the truth. 

Viserion opens his mouth and Jon can feel the heat as the fire ball begins to circulate in his mouth. In one single moment, his life will be gone. But then... Cold. He can feel the cold wind blowing, he can hear what sounds like ice crumbling to the ground. And so he opens his eyes. Viserion has crumpled to the ground in thousands of pieces and all around them, the remaining white walkers and undead have done the same. He doesn't dare believe it. Not yet. Not yet.

But then he sees her, there in the distance, with her hands over her mouth, and he knows it's all over. Arya had made it, Arya had won. And though every inch of him ached, Jon moved through the rubble and towards the godswood, passing what was left of Theon's men and stumbling to stand before Bran. 

She turns to him at the sound of his approaching footsteps; she was pale faced but unharmed. "Jon!" She cries, rushing forward, uncaring of all the eyes that were upon them. Jon felt her arms come around him, realizing only a moment later that her grip was all that kept him from falling to the ground. "You're alive," she whispers over and over again, her voice soft and warm against his ear as she held him close, tears pouring down her face. Jon looks out over her shoulder at all of the others that remained alive- Theon was not one of them and his heart aches for her loss of him. Arya stands just behind them- she's bruised and bloody, but she's alive. Bran too is unhurt and for that Jon is thankful. 

[ x x x ]

When he wakes the next morning, he's surprised to find her asleep at the foot of his bed. Ghost sleeps curled around her feet, though the wolf raises his head at the sound of Jon waking. The movement of his legs must wake her for a moment later, she too is rising up, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she leans in closer to him. "You're awake." She says, relief flooding her eyes in the form of tear as she reaches for his hands; even they were bruised and scraped. He feels her thumb gently rub across his knuckles, her touch so soft he couldn't even be certain she'd done it at all. "I'm so glad." 

Jon stares at her for a long moment, as if he dares not believe she is there and so is he, that they are safe inside a room in what remained of Winterfell. "I thought of you," he says without thinking, without hesitation. For some reason, he needs her to know. "When I thought Visieron would burn me alive... I thought of you." She blinks at him, drawing back ever so slightly in her surprise. But then her face softens, her eyes spilling over as she leans over him and buries her face into his thighs beneath the furs. Jon strokes her long red hair, thankful he's been given the chance for another moment such as this. "But why..." He asks, his question drawing her back up. "Why didn't you go to the crypts? You could have been killed out there!"

For a moment, she doesn't know what to say to him. She doesn't want to worry him more than necessary. She's alive, after all. She stares back at him for what felt like an eternity before she looks down at her lap, hands twisting together as she fights to find the right words. "I did... At first. But... Tyrion." She finally speaks softly, looking back at up him then. "He said he had once read that the Night King increased his army by animating the corpses upon the battlefield. He said it might prove the same for the crypts." Jon's heart has begun to pound. "They almost all died," she whispers, shaking her head as the terrible images run through her mind once more. "All but Gilly and Tyrion and me and a few others." She remembers the sounds of flesh tearing from bone. She remembers the screams of the living as they were torn to pieces by the undead. She remembers how it felt to plunge a dagger into Rickon's dead flesh, watching her little brother die once more before her very eyes. 

It takes Jon only a moment to realize the severity of her words. He thinks of her then, pale and frightened in the crypts, surrounded by the undead with no one to protect her. He thinks of her fighting back with the dagger Arya had given her that night, no knowledge in her about how to wield it. And more than anything... He thinks of their family, rising back up from their graves to cause her harm. "Sansa, I'm sorry," he whispers, cold dread rushing through him as he reaches for her hands, though he suddenly feels as if he has no right at all. But she places one hand over his, giving it a squeeze as she raises her gaze to meet his. "I never thought... I thought you would have been safe there... Instead, you could have died." He can't begin to grasp what he's done, what his decision has caused. All of those women and children, innocent lives taken because of his own stupid decision. 

"We all did," she murmurs softly, shaking her head. "We all thought it to be safe down there. You needn't blame yourself." Her sapphire gaze burns deep into his soul, the intensity of it sending chills down his spine; those were eyes that had seen far too much. "When we came back up, I knew where I had to go. I snuck around the back until I reached the godswood." She offers a somewhat apologetic smile. "I know it was stupid to go there, but I figured if I was going to die, I wanted to be with my family."

Jon squeezes her hand again, sitting up straighter in his bed so he could lean in close to her. "You're the bravest woman I know," he whispers as he tips his forehead down to meet hers, raising his hands up so they could slide into place on either side of her face. "And I love you for it," he continues, capturing her mouth with his before she can respond. The kiss is sweet and long, a kiss he hopes says everything that his words cannot. When he draws back, she's smiling. "Help me dress, won't you? I want to see the damage," Sansa nods and rises from her chair, moving about the room to grab him clean clothes. 

When he's dressed, he leans on her arm and together they walk out into the cold morning air, where they might begin to talk of rebuilding the home that was theirs. 


	70. Let me protect you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: sansa knows there's only one way to save jon from his fate in king's landing & she's going to save him no matter what anyone says

Jon's cell is dark and musty. 

It takes her eyes a moment to adjust and as they do, she hears him. "Sansa..." His voice is full of disbelief, as if he cannot believe she's there. He can't, actually. "How..." He whispers as she drops to her knees before him, a swirling storm of black skirts and rose scented hair. Her hands come up to touch his bearded cheeks, to touch his wild black curls. "How are you here?" Though her skin touches his, he cannot dare to believe that she's there. "How did you get in here?" He goes on to ask, truly surprised that she's managed to get into his cell. The Unsullied seemed quite against visitors, the only person he's seen in the last few weeks was Tyrion or a guard. 

"I threatened to start a war," she says, quite seriously, though her words bring a laugh from his lips. She joins him in laughing, though she sobers when he shifts his shackled hands up so he much brush his fingertips along her jawline. "You must let me help you from here," her voice softens, hands coming to grasp his, her fingers gently touching his wrists where they've been rubbed raw by his chains. 

Jon shakes his head. "There's no saving me from this, Sansa. Not even you can save me from my fate." He won't allow her to come into any harm by trying to save him. Jon knows she will fight him on this, she won't just walk away and leave him there. "It's said I'm to be sent back North, to what remains of the Night's Watch. I will live my life in exile there." Her eyes dark and she leans back on her hunches, red hair slipping over her shoulders. Jon's fingers twitch where they now lay in his lap, eager to run through those silky red strands. In truth, he might never get to again. 

"I won't allow it," she says with a shake of her head, mouth pursed in a frown. "You have committed no crime. You have saved the realm. What the Unsullied think means nothing to me nor to the North." She recalls weeks before, when she had rallied the remaining men back at Wintefell and set forth for King's Landing. They all had the same thought, the same desire: to bring Jon home. Once, Sansa had sworn to never return to King's Landing, but there she was. She was not going home without him. "I will see that you are set free." 

He smiles, shaking his head once again. "I can't let you to be harmed for my sake, sweetheart." He swallows, emotions catching in his throat. "I would rather die than see you hurt." 

"They cannot hurt me now," she says without hesitation, full of unbridled confidence that brings a small smile to his face. "Jon... I..." She pauses, turning away for just a moment, as if she's wrestling with what she wants to say to him. "Marry me," she says when she turns back to look at him, her sapphire eyes staring straight into his brown. "Marry me," she says again, fiercer this time. "It is the only way." 

"You can't be serious." He says in response, truly surprised by her words. He loved her, it was true, and he'd marry her in a heartbeat... But under other circumstances. She deserved someone better than him, not a war criminal. "I would only tarnish your name. You will be queen, you deserve a king." 

Sansa smiles as she leans in close, her forehead touching his. "You are the King in the North," she reminds him softly. "You are," she asserts when he tries to murmur his dissent. "You gave up your crown to a false queen, in order to protect your home and your people. That is what any good king would do. Robb once named you his heir and the North men chose you to be their king." 

"But you are-" 

"You are as much a Stark as I am," she interrupts with a smile, knowing where his words were already going. "Marry me and you will become Jon Stark. You will be King in the North and I will be Queen." She reaches down and takes his hands into hers. "Let me protect you as you have always protected me." For several long moments, or perhaps even years go by, they sit in silence. "Unless of course... You have no wish to marry me. And in that case, I might leave you here to rot." Her words bring a chuckle from his lips and she laughs along with him. "Please," she sobers then, sapphire eyes peering straight into his solemn, Stark colored eyes. "Let me protect you." After what feels like an eternity, Jon gives a single nod. 

"Only on one condition..." Jon says, reaching for her then, pulling her in, mouth hovering over hers. "When it's all done, you will let me ask you properly." She laughs as he kisses her, the sweet but soft sound filling him with more hope than he'd felt in weeks. Months. Years. 

"Agreed," she whispers when she breaks the kiss a moment later, cheeks flushed and heart hammering. "I'll be back." She rises to her feet, dusting off her skirts. Jon doesn't ask her how she will return, let alone with another person. Knowing Sansa, she already has it all figured out. "I promise you I will set you free from these," she says softly, tenderly touching the chains around his wrists. "I will set you free from here," Jon is on his feet then and she's kissing him, knowing the only reason she could even walk away was knowing she would be back for him. 

One way or another, she would protect him, she would save him.


	71. Sansa' Illness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: sansa writes jon weekly, even if he doesnt write her back. until one week... news of widespread illness comes instead.

"Another letter, _your grace._" 

Tormund's vocals are like music, his laughter floating along after. Things never seem to change, Jon supposes, including Tormund. Though he's asked the man to stop calling him your grace dozens of times now, it seems likely it'll never cease. Jon imagines he does it now to annoy him, rather than out of his respect. "Thank you," he says as he takes the scroll, unrolling it while Tormund warms himself before the roaring fire.

The small, neat script is as familiar as always and Jon sighs. 

"You should write her back." Tormund says without turning back, his hands still yet outstretched towards the fire. Jon raises his gaze to the red head's back but doesn't reply, rather he turns his attention back to the words written on the page. 

_Jon, _   
_I've heard you've been chosen as the King Beyond the Wall. I hope it makes you happy. Things are well here at home, aside from the usual winter ailments that plague us every year. It's especially bad this year, I've already lost a maid and a guard, and Lord Royce's youngest son died just yesterday. I hope no sickness has reached you at Castle Black, nor the wall, whereever you are. I miss you terribly. Please... Write me back. Even just to see my name written on a slip of parchment will do. Please Jon, I miss you. _   
_Sansa. _

Her letters come weekly, as they have since the moment they had separated back at King's Landing. The first one had been waiting for him at Castle Black the very first day he'd arrived. Jon folds the parchment up and tucks it into his doublet. He recalls the sickness she speaks of from childhood- he himself had nearly died of it and plenty of others had. Fear turns his stomach and he abruptly rises from his chair, its legs scraping against the stone floor in the most awful of ways. This catches Tormund's attention and the man turns to face him. "I forgot I said I would oversee the building today," he says, though he's made no such promise and Tormund knows this. 

Jon is gone before he can respond and the man heaves a sigh, shaking his head as he instead sits down at the desk Jon once occupied. And it's there that he pens his usual note to the Queen in the North, letting her know Jon has read her letter and is still the stupidest man alive, though he's well and certainly misses her as much as she misses him. It's the least he could do for the lonely Queen. 

[ x x x ]

When the raven comes, it's Tormund's handwriting yet again on the scroll.

Sansa sighs as she sits back against her chair, tossing the parchment away among all the others upon her desk. She's been working tirelessly these last few days- between preparing small funerals for those who had died of illness thus far and ensuring her people were well stocked for the remaining winter... It felt neverending. A cough escapes her and she leans over her desk, sweating beneath her heavy gray gown. When had it become so very hot?

"Your grace?" 

It is Lord Royce in her doorway and she tries to smile for him as he enters the room, knowing this is a man that has stood by her all this time. "Lord Royce," she greets with a tired smile, noticing only then the rawness of her throat, of the tightness in her bones. "It is as I said, you should be with your family... I can manage without you for a few days." 

Lord Royce offers his queen a small smile and shakes his head. "I feel better knowing I am at your service, my queen." He says as he steps further into the room, squinting as he peers down at her behind her desk. She is pale and drawn, looking quite unwell now that he looks closer. "You must rest," he says without hesitation, coming to stand before her desk that's littered with letters from all across Westeros. "With all the sickness around, it is imperative that you remain healthy. Please, allow me to escort you back to your chamber so you may rest."

"You are kind to worry after me, my lord, but I assure you I am well," she says, though the cough that suddenly escapes her says otherwise. "But perhaps I will allow you to walk with me back to my rooms. It is late, isn't it?" It's as she rises to her feet that Sansa realizes something isn't right with her. The tightness in her chest is suddenly overwhelming and she stumbles, darkness closing in around her. She can hear Lord Royce's voice calling out to her as if from beneath water, chanting_ your grace,_ over and over again until finally... She hears nothing at all. 

[ x x x ]

Jon is surprised when there's no letter. 

He inquires with a few of his men, all of whom shake their heads that no letter had arrived for him from anywhere. Jon can't shake the feeling inside him as he strides through the courtyard and up the stairs into his chambers, where Ghost is dozing on the floor before a dying fire. The wolf raises his head from his great big paws as he enters, looking at his master as if he's causing him an inconvience by waking him. "She always writes me," Jon says aloud as he paces back and forth, forcing Ghost to sit up with a yawn. "Always." His mind is racing, wondering if the beautiful queen had finally let him go. He wouldn't blame her of course, it's what he wanted her to do... Wasn't it? 

After several more moments of pacing, he stops at his desk and catches sight of her last letter, folded up there on top of all the others. He reaches for it and the moment he begins to read, a cold realization settles in the pit of his stomach. "No..." He mumbles, tossing the letter back down, shaking his head. 

"Go to her."

Jon turns at the sound of a voice, only to find Tormund standing in the door. "Go," he urges with a nod of his head, knowing Jon would never rest if he didn't. For no letter to have come from the Queen in the North meant something and it couldn't be good. "I'll look after things here... So go." Jon came up to stand before him and it was a moment later that they were embracing. When Jon pulled back, it was to grab his old fur cloak and flee into the corridor, Ghost trotting along behind him. 

It takes him only ten minutes to secure a few provisions for the road and saddle up his horse. And then he's off, rushing back to home, back to her. 

[ x x x ]

As she drifts back to the world of the living, Sansa realizes she can't move her legs. 

A rush of fear wakens her completely and she forces herself up in bed, though it proves a great feat indeed. She begins coughing a moment after she realizes someone is draped over her lower half; Jon is awake the moment she begins to cough and he's surging towards the head of her bed, gently pushing her back down against her pillows. "You're here," she whispers when she's finished coughing, her throat dry and aching though she smiles as he leans over her, brushing hair from her forehead. 

"You didn't write me," he murmurs back and his words elicit a soft chuckle from her trembling lips. 

"You never write back," she quips, sick but still fierce. 

"There was too much to say," he says and she raises her sapphire gaze to meet his. "Besides.. You know I was always poor at letters," she's reminded of their childhood, when her mother had punished him and Robb both for their lackluster writing. "Can I stay?" He asks then, gesturing back to the chair he'd once been sleeping in. Sansa regards him for one single moment before she nods, sinking back against her pillows as he drags the chair to where he stood and settles himself into it. And then they begin to talk. 

He doesn't tell her that he's been there at her side for days, but rather they talk about the family they both miss. They talk about the childhood left behind and the present they have come to know. They talk and talk until she falls asleep, drained from days of illness, and he can't stop himself from leaning over her to softly kiss her forehead. There at her bedside, he wonders how he ever was able to separate himself from her... For now that he was here he was certain he would never leave her again. 


	72. Jon kills Daenerys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon kills daenerys to protect sansa.

When Jon came to her rooms, he knew something was amiss. 

He could feel it in his bones, a cold sense of dread that left him feeling sick. It was as if he already knew that within Daenerys' rooms, a choice had already been made that would change everything. Raising his hand, he knocks twice, and waits silently until he hears the footsteps on the other side of the door. It's Missandei that opens it for him, giving a respectful but solemn nod before she steps aside, allowing him entrance to the queen's rooms.

She stands before the table at the center of the room, a great map of Westeros spread across it. Daenerys looks grim, her violet eyes a shade darker when they fall upon him. Tyrion stands to her other side and the look upon his face is unreadable- but the one within his eyes is chilling. "You sent for me, your grace," Jon speaks with a voice that does not betray his inner turmoil. His heart hammers, his stomach sinking as the dragon queen gestures for him to approach her. Grey Worm eyes him coldly from behind Daenerys, his hand ever present upon the hilt of his sword. 

"Yes, Jon... We must speak." Daenerys says as she sweeps around the table to stand before him. "It's about your sister," she says, hands clasped before her, her dragon ring glinting in the firelight. She calls Sansa his sister, reminding him that Daenerys has told no one the truth of his birth, not even these people she called her must trusted council. Her friends. "It would seem that despite the friendship I have offered to her and the North, she still defies me." Jon feels his heart skip a beat, his breath catching in his throat. No, no, no, he thinks, though his face remains passive. "Letters have been discovered, letters she intended to send to my enemies." Daenerys' nostrils flare, a telltale sign of the anger rushing through her. "Letters that name you the true heir to the Iron Throne, letters asking to support the North in an effort to overthrow my reign before it has even begun." Jon doesn't ask how such letters have been found; queen or not, she had no right searching Winterfell's own Lady's personal letters as they were being sent out. 

"Sansa wouldn't," Jon begins, hoping he sounds shocked, truthfully he is, though his worry quite outweighs the shock. "Your grace, she is upset, please let me speak to her... Let me-"

"No!" Daenerys snaps, interrupting him before he can finish his plea. "You know the penalty for treason, Jon." Her violet eyes narrow as they fall upon him, as if she is threatening him to disagree, as if she dares him to defend Sansa from the crimes she's committed. "Not only has she been disrespectful to me, her queen, she has forged a lie that you are Targaryen born and thus the true heir. She means to take from me what is mine and give it to you. Your sister is a traitor and must be punished." Jon cannot breathe. But he knows if he tries to fight the decision, he will be overruled and burned too. If he is dead, then he cannot stop what is to come. "Do you understand what that means?" 

And so he hangs his head and hopes he looks like a dejected older brother. He hopes he looks shamed, knowing his sister was a traitor to the one true queen. "Aye, your grace, I do." He says softly, keeping his gaze upon the ground until he hears Daenerys' soft footsteps as she approaches him. When he looks up, she's staring at him, no trace of sympathy on her features. Not even for him, the man she supposedly loves, can she feel pity for when she intends on murdering his own family member. 

"At dawn then. You may say your goodbyes, if you wish." Daernerys turns away from him then, dismissing him with a single wave of her hand. She trusts him, he realizes, not to betray her to Sansa. To not try and smuggle her away from Winterfell in the dead of night. She still yet believes in what was between them, whatever it was she thought it to be. And that... That will be what saves Sansa's life. 

[ x x x ]

When he returns to her rooms that night, he's certain no one has seen him. This time when he knocks, she opens it a moment later, a smile blooming at the sight of him in her doorway. "Jon," she breathes, allowing him to come in, shutting the door behind her. "I thought you would be angry with me... For what I must do." She shifts from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable for the first time, her violet eyes flickering in the light from the fire behind her. "You do understand, don't you? I do not want to execute her, Jon, but she has given me no choice. I am her queen." 

Jon steps closer to her, reaching out a hand to tenderly stroke her cheek. "You are my queen," he says softly, his words bringing another smile to her face. She leans in to his touch, her own hand sliding into place over his. "I love Sansa as any brother would, but you are my queen and it's you I've devoted my life to." The words feel empty on his tongue, but they do the trick for her smile is radiant as she falls into his embrace. 

"We will make this world a better place, you and I," she says softly, her voice muffled from where her face is buried into his chest. He raises a hand to touch her silvery hair and it forces her to tilt her head back to look up at him, violet eyes shimmering with happy tears. "I knew I could always trust you." She says softly, before she rises up to her tiptoes, pressing her lips against his without another word. 

Jon kisses her back, one arm snaking around to press against the small of her back. The other moves quickly to his waist, to where he's secured a dagger. It's over so quickly, Daenerys has no time to react aside from a quiet cry that leaves her once smiling lips. She looks down at the blade plunged into her chest and then back up at Jon, shock replacing the happiness as she sags towards the ground. Jon doesn't move as she falls, but rather stands over her, unaware of the breath he's holding until he lets it go when her chest goes still. 

A moment later, he cleans his blade and puts it back at his hip, tossing the bloodied linen into the dying embers of the fire. And then he steps around Daenerys' now lifeless body, heads out into the hall, and back to his rooms. Never seen, never heard, no one will ever know who claimed the dragon's queen life. 

[ x x x ]

The next morning, all of Winterfell is woken by Missandei's screams and Grey Worm's shouts. It is Missandei that discovers her queen's body that morning when she goes to help her dress and braid her hair as she did every morning, albeit earlier than usual to prepare for what was supposed to occur that day. Her cries alert Grey Worm who was coming down the hall and the soldier rushes from the room, shouting for Jon Snow and the Lady of Winterfell. 

Both are lodged in Sansa's rooms, Jon having gone to her room as he often did in the morning, nothing out of his ordinary routine. Sansa is sliding the last pin into her hair when the door flies open, nearly off its hinges, and Grey Worm storms in. "Murderer!" He screams as his eyes fall upon Jon, unsheathing his sword and pointing it at his chest. "Murderer!" His bellows can be heard throughout the castle and already, Brienne is rushing through the room, placing herself between Sansa who now stands and Grey Worm who's frenzied stare swivels from one face to the other. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Sansa demands, fear paling her face, though her blue eyes narrow as she stares Grey Worm down. 

"Jon Snow has murdered my queen!" Grey Worm shouts, near hysterics now, his sword still yet aimed for Jon. "Your treachery against the queen was discovered and just last night, she sentenced you to die! Now we wake to find her slain in her own room?" Grey Worm is beside himself, his sword shaking in his hand. Sansa blinks, swallowing down whatever retort she had prepared. "This very morning we were to come for you but now she is dead? Jon Snow, you will pay! And so will you!" Grey Worm surges forward, but Jon parries the attack the moment he's unsheathed Longclaw and Sansa cries for them to cease sword play, though Brienne forces her back from the scuffle. "I will avenge my queen!" Grey Worm screams as his blade connects with Jon's yet again, sparks flying. 

It takes but several more swings for Jon to knock the blade from the now weeping man's hands and it's then that Northern soldiers have descended upon the room. "Take him in chains!" Sansa cries as she comes around Brienne's protective form. "Brienne, go to the queen's rooms." Though she looks somewhat reluctant to leave her side, Brienne nods and exits the room, following after the soldiers that drag Grey Worm between them. "Secure Winterfell," she commands of the other soldiers, all of whom nod, sprinting from the room to do as she bid. 

The moment they have all gone, Sansa drops into the chair she'd once discarded, her heartbeat wild within her chest. Jon at once turns to her, Longclaw back at his side where it belonged. "What is happening?" She asks, turning her blue eyes upon him, the breath leaving her shaking as badly as her hands in her lap. "Is what he said true?" 

Jon regards her for a long moment before he comes closer, dropping down to the floor beside her chair. Without a word, he reaches for her hands, squeezing them gently. She's staring at him but her expression tells him everything that her words don't. It's as if she understands him completely. "I told you I'd always protect you," he says finally, releasing a shaky breath of his own. Her lips twitch with a smile but she thinks better on it and she merely nods, giving his hands a squeeze back. His vow held true, no matter who he had to protect her from. Queens, kings, monsters, or men... He would protect her from them all for as long as he lived. 


	73. Jon bends the knee.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon bends the knee to the queen in the north.

Her hands curl atop her throne, slender digits digging deep into the hard wood as across the room, the doors were open, revealing to her a man dressed in black fur. The young queen could scarcely catch her breath as the man walked down the long aisle, coming to stand before where she sat upon her throne, unaware that his heart was beating just as fast as her own. 

As Jon approaches her, he feels his breath catch, feels his heart as it tries to jump from his very chest. She's so beautiful, there upon her throne, with a crown of wolves perched atop her fire kissed hair. It's been nearly two years since he'd last saw her, two years so long they felt like lifetimes. She had written him often over the years, her letters full of mundane things, but every line written with love. Jon has each letter tucked into his trunk upstairs in his chamber. "Your grace," he says before he unsheaths his sword and drops to a knee before her, offering fealty to the one true Queen in the North. "I have come to swear allegiance to you. To stand at your side... If you'll have me." He raises his face to meet her gaze and he can see she's torn between smiling and crying, those sapphire eyes of hers shining in the torchlight. 

If you'll have me.

She thinks back to the last man who had said such words to her and her heart twists. She misses Theon as much as she misses any of her other brothers, gone too soon from this world. Looking down at Jon, she sees the future she's been waiting for, the final goal she had been working towards since her coronation two years prior. And so she smiles before she nods, a single tear slipping free to trace the curve of her cheek. She gestures for him to rise back to his feet and it's only then that she speaks, two single words that Jon had been waiting to hear for what felt like forever. 

"Welcome home." 


	74. Rescue her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon goes to rescue sansa from king's landing. canon divergence.

"What do you mean, you won't go?" 

He's staring into Robb's clear blue eyes, trying to understand the words he's only just heard him say. "I can't Jon, you know that-" he stops, sighing when he sits back in his chair, arms folding over his chest. For several long moments, there's nothing but silence between the two of them before Robb leans forward, fingers spread across the wood of the table he sits behind. "You know I can't abandon this war for another one." 

"Then turn in Jaime Lannister!" Jon spits, throwing his hands into the air as he takes a single step fowards. At his feet, Grey Wind growls low in his chest, though with a touch of Robb's hand, the wolf returns his head to his massive paws. But his golden eyes peer up at Jon from beneath the table, as if daring Jon to take another step towards his master. Outside the tent, his own wolf paces. 

"I can't do that, either." Robb says, bowing his head as if he cannot bring himself to look into Jon's Stark colored eyes. "He's too important of a hostage."

"She's our sister," Jon rasps, hand clenching into a fist at his side. "You'll just leave her to rot there a prisoner of the Lannisters?" He cannot believe Robb is saying this, he cannot believe he would do such a thing as this. "We can't just leave her there!" It's been several weeks since their father was murdered in King's Landing, five since Arya was last seen. They have heard the rumors of how Joffrey Baratheon runs his court and Jon has heard the whispers of madness that surround their boy king. He worries for Sansa, who he knows remains in the clutches of the Lannisters. Some nights he can't sleep for worry of what must be happening to her there. 

"Cersei Lannister would be stupid to harm her," Robb replies with another shake of his Tully touched hair. Though not as prominent as Sansa's vivid red locks, Robb is a true born Tully, certainly favoring his mother more than his father. "Not when her lover brother is in my keep." 

"Then I will go." Jon snarls, turning his back on his brother and striding towards the tent's opening, ever intent on rushing through it. 

"Jon!"  
  
Robb's booming call forces him to stop, forces him to slowly revolve on the spot where he stands so he might face his brother. He's risen to his feet, a fist clenched where it sits on the table top. "You will go where your king commands," Robb speaks sharply; he knows Jon will hate him for this, he might even desert him for this. But then... Perhaps then at least Sansa would be safe. "I have not bid you permission to go anywhere." He watches as Jon sets his jaw, those Stark eyes of his reminding Robb of his father. 

"I won't leave her there." Is all Jon says before he turns and strides from the tent. He would risk the wrath of the gods and Lady Stark for turning against Robb, but he couldn't live with himself if he had left Sansa there alone. He knows Robb is stuck, he knows being king is more than a crown, but if he will not go, then it must be him. "Ghost!" He calls out to his wolf as he rushes towards the tent that he called his own. Once inside, he stuffs a few belongings into a sack and throws it over his shoulder, adjusting Longclaw at his hip. "We're going South, boy." Jon says to the white wolf, who's tail thumps loudly on the ground. He knows King's Landing is no place for the wolf, but he knows what feeling his red-eyed, white wolf instills in those who see him. 

When he steps back out into the afternoon sun, there's a chill in the air that turns his heart to lead. For a single moment, he contemplates returning to Robb's tent, to apologize, to make amends. But then he again thinks of Sansa and he turns away, heading towards the stables with Ghost at his heels. _I'll make amends when I return,_ he thinks, _all will be forgiven when he sees her face. _

And so he rides away, down the long path that would lead him to the King's Road, to Sansa. 

[ x x x ]

"I only would like an audience with my sister." 

Jon stands at the bottom of the dais, where upon the Iron Throne sits the golden haired king, Joffrey. At his elbow, Cersei Lannister hovers, much like the queen she still thinks herself to be. It is well known among even the commoners that Cersei rules through her son, though Jon has to wonder what would befall the realm if Joffrey Baratheon made any decisions of state. "It hardly seems like a ridiculous request," Jon goes on, raising his dark colored eyes up to fall upon the king's green. He knows he cannot reason with this king, cannot tug on any heartstrings. This king will decide and that is that. 

"I do not think my lady would care to meet with her bastard half brother," Joffrey sneers, drumming his fingertips against the arm of his throne. He looks bored, green eyes rolling as he shifts, glancing up towards his mother for only a moment. "However..." He sighs, turning his attention back to Jon. "Perhaps it will brighten her spirits," he's smirking at a private thought and a rush of anger surges through him. "I will have you escorted to her rooms." This is a moment of generosity, or what Joffrey would call it. Jon doesn't know him and doesn't know that tomorrow, Sansa would wake to rumors of just why her brother went unaccompanied to her rooms. 

"Thank you, your grace." Jon bows over his arm, though it sickens him to do so. There's hundreds of words there on the tip of his tongue- words he would dearly love to say, punches he would dearly love to throw. But, no matter what, Joffrey is still the king. And harming the king would do little for him and especially nothing for Sansa. So he keeps his dark thoughts to himself and instead, follows the man dressed in Lannister colors out of throne room and into the main hall.

Upstairs, a knock sounds on Sansa's door. 

She's been laying in bed for two days now and she isn't about to get up now. It's Shae, of course, that strides across the room from where she had been sitting in the window seat to get the door. Sansa can't hear what's being said, but she notices it's a Lannister man at the door. Propping herself up onto her elbow, she peers through the hangings on her bed as Shae nods and backs up before she shuts the door. "You have a visitor," she says when she's pulled back the bed hangings, staring down at her young charge. 

"A visitor?" Sansa parrots back, surprise widening her blue eyes. She can't imagine anyone coming to visit her, especially after all that has happened. So she can only assume it will be Margaery who comes gliding through the door, smelling of roses and draped in silks. Sansa isn't certain she can stomach such a visit today. 

"Yes, it's your brother." Shae replies and at once, Sansa's world stops spinning. 

"B-brother?" She chokes out, suddenly sitting all the way up, nearly falling off the edge of her bed in her scramble upright. "My_ brother?_" She exclaims, uncertain if she was more surprised that her brother has come or that Cersei has permitted a visit. At once, she's recalling every terrible thing that's happened to her here and how she's wished over and over again for a moment such as this... Where Robb comes to rescue her from this nightmare, where he comes and steals her away, to return her to their mother and to their home. 

Shae smiles, dropping down to her level, smoothing back a stray lock of red hair. "It is your brother, Jon." For a split second, Sansa feels let down, but only for a moment for there is a knock on her door and she knows he's there. Shae rises up from the floor and crosses the room, yet again opening the door to a man in Lannister livery. She nods and gives thanks to the man who steps back and it's as Sansa is rising up from the bed that Jon steps into the room. 

If she's disappointed that it's him and not Robb, she doesn't show it. Rather, her face lights up from the inside out, the smile that appears as dazzling as the summer sun. Jon has only a moment to brace himself before she's flung herself into his embrace, her weight soft and warm in his arms. "Let me look at you," he says softly, pulling back from her just enough so he can look her in the face. She looks down and Jon reaches out, cupping her chin into his hand so he can gently tilt her face back to to his. 

There is a fading bruise at the corner of her mouth, her lower lip split open as if she's been struck with a man's fist. Her eyes are like that of a deer, wild and fearful, but so blue they must be clearer than even the seas. "He hurts you," he growls, the anger white hot and rushing in his veins. The hand at her chin has slipped upwards, fingers gingerly trailing across the bruise, across the healing injury to her mouth. Tears are gathering on her lashes and she draws back, shaking her head. 

"Not him, his men," she whispers, wrapping her arms around herself; Jon only then notices that the pale blue gown she wears hangs from her body. For a moment, the anger flees and instead he feels sorrow. He cannot begin to imagine what she's suffered here. "_A king must never strike his lady,_" she says, her voice bringing him back from his thoughts. "That's what he always says." Now he thinks of her cowering beneath the fists of grown men and his anger returns. 

"I'm taking you from here," he says, lowering his voice, sparing a quick glance towards Shae who stands at the window on the far side of the room, pretending she cannot hear their soft words. "Is there anyone here you can trust?" Sansa pauses for only a split second before she gestures towards Shae, a slow smile spreading over her battered lips. 

"Only Shae," she says softly, turning her eyes back to Jon's. She had forgotten just how much he looked like their father and it takes her breath away. He reminds her of their father, he reminds her of Arya and it hurts... It hurts so much. She knows Arya is better off, wherever she was, but she can only hope she's safe and warm wherever that is. "But Jon.. You can't..." She trails off, shaking her head. "They won't let me leave." Joffrey was set to marry Margaery in only a few days, but she was still his prisoner. 

"At the wedding," he says after a moment of thought. The plan is clear, during the feast there will be drinking and dancing, a perfect opportunity for her to slip away. "I will come for you during the wedding feast." He takes hold of her arms, pulling her close to him again. "I swear it to you, Sansa, I will come for you." For several moments, there is nothing but silence and the rapid beating of her pulse in her ears. But then, for the first time in weeks, in months, she feels it... A little flicker of hope. Of faith. 

And so she nods. 

[ x x x ]

Jon hadn't planned on Joffrey dying, but it certainly had added a little flair to the day he hadn't anticipated. It certainly gave him the distraction he needed to smuggle Sansa away from the feast and he used it to his advantage. 

He creeps along the stone pathway, tugging her along with him. The cloak he brought with him is draped over her, shielding from prying eyes her vivid red hair. He's borrowed Baratheon colored clothes and with the old cloak she wears, they look like a peasant couple running from the pandemonium of the wedding feast. In truth, no one pays them any mind at all as they escape down the stone steps to the docks, which have emptied out aside from the old man that sits on the dock beside a small boat. Jon has already paid this man to hold the old boat there and he nods to him gratefully before he helps Sansa onto the poor excuse for a boat. 

With her settled across from him, he begins to row; his path leads them further and further from the docks, from King's Landing, until it is only a speck on the horizon. Sansa has sat silently there, her head turned away from him, but it's then that she lowers the hood of the old cloak and turns her blue eyes upon him. There's dozens of things he wants to say to her. "Your necklace... It's missing a stone." Why were these the words he's chosen? She blinks in surprise and raises a hand up to trail the pads of her fingers across each delicate bead until sure enough, her fingers graze her own skin rather than the bead that would have been closest to the back of her neck. She reaches around and unclasps it, holding it between her hands as she inspects the broken piece, a look of recognition settling into place on her face.

A moment later, she drops it over the side of the boat. 

He holds her gaze steady when she looks up at him and for a moment, there is silence. "Take me home," she speaks softly and Jon can only nod. 

[ x x x ]

When they land, Jon knows something isn't right. 

"Put up your hood," he says as he helps her from the rocking boat to the dock, steadying her when she stumbles. She nods before drawing her hood up over her red hair, shivering in the chilly air, the stolen cloak from King's Landing far too thin for the cold of the North. Down the way, at the other end of the dock stands a trio of men. Jon approaches them, Sansa trailing just behind him, recognizing one of the men to be a relation of the Frey's somehow. When he had left Robb, negotiations with the Frey's had been underway and Robb was to marry one of his many daughters, much to his distaste. "Sers," Jon greets and the three men turn, their gazes dark and untrusting. 

"I know you," the Frey man says, recognizing him as Jon had him. "This here is the bastard brother of the_ King in the North._" He speaks plainly and the other two men laugh, the Frey man too dissolving into laughter. "You know... He named you heir, didn't he?" The laughter fades and it's right then that somehow, Jon understands. The three men have their hands on the hilts of their swords and Jon backs up a few steps before he turns and gives Sansa a shove, shouting for her to run before he too picks up his pace, the whistle of a sword in the air far too close for comfort.

They run until Sansa is crying with a cramp in her side; they're deep in the forest that borders the dock now and somewhere in the distance, he hears Ghost's long, mournful cry. "What... What did he mean?" Sansa asks as she fights to catch her breath, having not understood the men back on the dock. "Why did they attack us if they knew you? If they know Robb?" She asks, her hood fallen down and her hair that had once been done so nicely was a tangle of curls hanging down her back. "Is he nearby? Mother, too?" Excitement lights up her face, gives her cheeks color and Jon doesn't have the heart to tell her. Not yet, not when he doesn't know for certain. 

"Our camp was not far from here, come on," he says, choosing to ignore her question about why they had been attacked. They walk through the falling darkness and yet again, he can hear Ghost howling, closer now, and they are just about to step through the cover of trees into the camp. 

At once, Jon knows his fears have been confirmed. 

The camp has been destroyed- tents have been torched, bodies lay everywhere, soaked in the blood that pools beneath them. Beside him, Sansa's sharp intake of breath is like a knife in his gut. "Close your eyes," he whispers, reaching for her hand to take, to guide her through the bloodshed and the death. But when he looks back, her glossy eyed stare reminds him that she's already seen these horrible sights. She gives his hand the smallest of squeezes and that's when Jon knows that she's beginning to understand. "We have to go," he says, keeping his voice low, his free hand perched carefully atop of Longclaw. She nods, silent and pale, allowing him to lead her down the path that would have led them to the main tent, where Robb would have been. 

But now, his body lays somewhere among the chaos, torn to pieces and sewn grotesquely back together by his enemies. The rumors would bring enough images to last a lifetime and when he hears them, Jon is thankful that he and Sansa managed to avoid seeing their brother in such a state. 

They walk on and on, never talking, but he knows she silently cries as they go. 

They walk until they stumble across a small hut, long since abandoned by whoever had once lived within. When he's certain it is empty and they are safe, Jon ushers her inside and when the door is closed behind them, he pushes a table in front of it, ensuring that no one was getting inside through it. The window is locked too, though he double and triple checks it within the first ten minutes they're inside. 

He strikes at the old wood in the hearth with the flint and to his surprise, it catches fire. A few logs sit to the left of the hearth and he feeds one more into the flame, the warmth and light quickly spreading through the small cabin. "Come get warm," Jon says, turning away from the fire to face her where she stands, still draped in the old thin cloak. She takes a few steps towards him and he can see that she's exhausted. Of course she was, after all they had been through. And so he holds out a hand for her to take and when she does, her hand is small and cold, a perfect fit within his. Jon draws her closer to the warm fire and with his own hands, pulls the cloak from her shoulders. 

The lovely silk gown she was wearing was torn in several spots on the skirt and he reached out to pluck a stray leaf from her vivid red locks. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek that was strangely reminiscent of the bruise she'd once worn only days before. "He's dead... Robb..." She whispers, tears clinging to her lashes when her lids sweep closed over her sapphire eyes. When she opens them again, Jon nods and a single tear falls, tracing along the curve of her cheek. "And my mother..." She chokes on the last word and Jon says nothing but rather he pulls her into his embrace, holding onto her as tightly as he dared. Her sobs were heartbreaking and Jon held his own sorrow in, knowing right then, she needed him to be strong. 

Hours later, he's helped her into the bed that sits against the western wall, and now she sleeps soundly beneath the blankets. Ghost has found his way inside and has crammed himself into the bed beside her, the sight of her arm draped over his body enough to bring a smile to Jon's face. Though weary as he feels, he cannot sleep. Not yet. 

Guilt seeps into his bones and sorrow twists at his heart. You never should have left, his brain keeps saying, over and over again. He glances across the room to where Sansa sleeps and his heart answers his brain without missing a beat. Yes, you should have. For some reason, saving Sansa had called to him more than anything else in his life ever had- making that choice was easier than any other decision ever had been. And though he feels guilt for not being there beside Robb when he needed him most... Guilt he will live with for the rest of his life... When he looks at Sansa, he knows he's made the right choice. If he was faced with the same decision again, Sansa or Robb... He knows who he would choose. 

And she sleeps there in that bed, tucked against his giant white wolf. 


	75. Wedding Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: when jon hears the queen in the north is to be married, he rushes back to winterfell, but he'll find that time hasn't healed all wounds.

When Jon hears the Queen in the North is getting married, he gets on his horse and along with Ghost, rides for Winterfell. He knows he doesn't deserve to stand before her, he doesn't deserve to speak to her- but he can't stop himself. Jon thinks back to the two marriages she'd been forced into already and knows he can't let that happen to her again. Queen or no queen, he can't let her be unhappy her whole life.

And so he rides and rides, Ghost excitedly howling as he runs freely for the first time in months. They ride on together through the ice and snow until finally, there in the distance, the tallest tower of Winterfell appears along the skyline. He knew from his constant letters with Sansa that their home had been rebuilt again and they could only hope that it would be for the last time. As he slows to a hault before the gates, the guards on either side look down at him from above before glancing at one another. He doesn't blame them; not only was he a known war criminal, banned to what was left of the wall, he also looks as wild as the Free Folk he'd been living with this last year. The once tamed curls were wild around his face, though his direwolf embossed breastplate was still worn as proudly as ever, it was mostly hidden by the furs he was wrapped in. "Who goes there?" One one of the guards asks, voice booming.

"I am Jon Snow, come to speak to my sister the Queen." 

The two guards exchange another glance and it's only then that Ghost appears at his side, the proof of his identity. Though they still look hesitant, the other guard calls for the gate to open and as he rides through, he's not surprised to see Ser Davos there in the courtyard. He had remained behind to serve Sansa as he had once served Jon, though not named Hand to the Queen, he was an important advisor to every choice she made. He slipped from his horse as Davos approached and for a moment they could only stare back at one another. But a moment later, Davos was moving forward, bringing Jon into an embrace that reminds him of the father he'd once had in Ned Stark. "It's been a long time, Jon Snow." Davos said when they separate a few moments later. "I thought you would have come long before now." Truth was, Davos knew that Jon harbored a tremendous amount of guilt over what had happened with Daenerys Targaryen. Though the madness of a Targaryen could not be changed and what happened would have happened eventually, Davos knew the young man felt complicit in the conflict. His banishment felt more self imposed than anything. No, there was only one reason that Jon had come here this day... He heard the Queen was getting married. "Well, you can't see her looking like this." Davos smiles and Jon feels his whole body relax before he nods, allowing Davos to lead him through the courtyard and up a set of stairs. 

Though it had been a long time since he'd last been within these walls, they still felt like home. 

[ x x x ]

She's alone in her chambers when there comes a knock on her door. 

It's late in the evening and in truth, she'd thought herself an early night after a long day of travel and work. She had only just returned from King's Landing that day, where negotiations for her marriage were already underway. The Prince of Dorne had been writing for some time now, a nice enough man and handsome, with wealth and an army that could help keep the North safe... And yet... He isn't Jon. She sighs, shaking her head before she calls out permission for the person at her door to enter. The door swings open and its her Hand, Lord Royce, looking agitated. "My lord," she greets as he bows to her, "I thought you were seeing to the unpacking of the carriages." From King's Landing she had brought provisions and gifts alike, enough to fill three whole carriages. Though she had protested against such generosity, both Bran and the Dornish Prince had insisted upon her taking what they'd given. 

"Apologies, your grace, but you... Have a visitor, if you should like to see them." Lord Royce sounds as he looks and when she inquires about it, he clears his throat. "It is Jon Snow, my queen." He says by way of explanation and at once Sansa feels her knees give way, forcing her to sink down into the chair she'd just left. "I can send him away, I'm not certain why they let him through at the gate. I will have those guards heads, I assure you-"

Sansa holds up a hand, silencing him; she's thinking, racking her brains over why Jon has come to her so suddenly. "No, it is alright," she finally says with a nod, taking a deep breath as she turns her sapphire eyes onto her Hand. "I will meet him in my solar... Let me change, for I am still in my riding clothes, and I shall see him then." Lord Royce nods and bows, before he backs from her room and closes the door behind him. It takes her only a few moments to find her bearings and rise back up, for she is the Queen and she cannot stray from her duty. And yet... The prospect of _truly_ seeing Jon again has left her shaking, heart racing. She can do nothing but think of him while she allows a maid to help her change from her dirty riding dress into something fresh, a new gown of charcoal gray with a black fur pelt draped across her shoulders. The long sweeping sleeves are embroidered with gold flecked thread while her signature necklace hangs around her neck. When her hair is brushed out, she rebraids it herself, pinning it loosely at the back of her head, a few tendrils left to frame her face. Only then is she ready.

Rising from her place at her looking glass, she turns to Brienne who has arrived to walk her down the hall to her office. The one that had once belonged to Jon. The two women look at each other for a long moment before Brienne leads her from the room and to a moment that very well could change everything. 

[ x x x ]

When the door opens, Jon steps inside without a word, only nodding his thanks to Brienne of Tarth that had allowed him inside. The first thing he notices is her- how can he not, after all? She stands before the hearth, the firelight surrounding her, giving her the look of a fiery goddess. Her red hair is longer than it ever was, though still worn in the braids she'd always favored. She wears no crown, but holds herself like the Queen she was born to be. Her gown is unlike any of the ones he's seen her wear before, but he recognizes the stitching that tells him she still makes them herself. She's as beautiful, no more so, than he remembered. 

He takes a few steps closer to her and without a word, he drops to his knees before her, head bowed as he fights to find the words to say. "My queen..." The words are a whisper between them and Sansa feels chills race the length of her spine as he speaks. "I have dreamed of this moment," his honesty surprises both of them, but he watches as her face softens, as her breath catches in her throat. In that moment, Jon can't believe he ever walked away from this perfect creature- but that had been the perfect form of atonement. The one thing he wanted most in this world was her. Even now, all that mattered to him was Sansa. "Even in exile, I've dreamed of you." 

His words make her heart flutter but she doesn't let her face change, but rather leans over and slips her hands on either side of his face. "Rise, Jon," she says with a smile she cannot stop, warmth flooding through her entire being starting right there where their skin touched. The moment he's on his feet again, she's rushing into his arms and burying her face into his shoulder. He's warm and strong, his embrace as she remembered, as she too dreamed of. "I've been waiting for you," she speaks softly when she pulls back, staring into the dark eyes she had been missing all these months. "I thought you would come sooner..." 

Jon feels the stabbing pain of guilt when the hurt crosses her features. "I just... Couldn't." He says lamely and she laughs at his expense, the sound bringing a smile to his own lips. "But I've missed you, Sansa, more than I've missed anything in all my life." He wishes he could find the words to tell her just how much he's missed her smile, her voice, her skin against his... But truly, there are no words to express the feelings inside of him. And so rather than speaking anymore, Jon pulls her back into his arms, this the only thing he ever could have wanted. 

When they finally can pull themselves from one another's grip, they talk; they talk and talk for what very well could have been hours. Though they write often, words on a scroll can never make up for it all, could never replace sitting their in each other's presence. Jon talks of his time at the wall with the Free Folk, who try to name him King but he refuses, as is his nature. Sansa tells him as much and he laughs at his own expense, knowing she's right. She always is. "You know..." His voice draws him from her thoughts and she looks up at him, there in a chair clutching a mug of ale. They had both been drinking and she could feel the warmth of the wine rushing through her. "I had heard you were to be married."

The words fall between them and it clicks in her brain a moment later; this is what brought him to her door so suddenly. She knows she should be elated that he's come for this reason and this reason alone. But at the same time... He could have come whenever he wanted. He could have come the day of her coronation, he could have come the week after. She knew him and knew he felt he had to atone for all that had happened... But he could have done that here, with her, where he belonged. "I am." She says stiffly, shoulders squared, suddenly feeling a lot less at ease than she had ten seconds ago. 

"You can't." He says it without hesitation, shaking his head as he sets aside the mug he's been drinking from. Jon supposes he can blame the alcohol for his words, knowing full well what sort of storm they could bring about. "You can't get married." 

She blinks, staring at him as if she's only just seen him sitting there. "You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do, Jon. Not anymore." She says sharply, though she softens when she shakes her head a moment later. "I'm the Queen, it's my choice." 

"Do you love him?"

Jon's question leaves her stuttering and she jumps to her feet, nearly tripping over the hem of her gown. "You don't get to ask that anymore!" She hisses when she turns back around to face him, chest heaving. He looks every inch the hurt wolf and for a moment, she wants to soften the blow, but she remembers who she is and what he's done to her. "I'm the Queen," she says again with a shake of her head, sadness pooling in her eyes. "I have a realm to protect, people to keep safe. I can't do it alone forever." She's making excuses- of course she doesn't want to marry the Prince of Dorne, but things are different now. She must have heirs to protect the North. She must have wealth to provide her country with what it needed, especially now as winter still yet ravaged them. "I couldn't wait forever." She says this so softly Jon can't even be certain she's said it. But the look on her face tells him everything. 

And so he rises from his chair and comes to stand before her; he reaches for her hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss. Then he's gone, escaping the room they'd shared these last few hours, knowing it was as she had said... She couldn't wait forever. He had missed his chance all because he had not come to her sooner or even told her the truth of his feelings. But standing there in the room, he knew now she had felt the same... That she still felt the same. 

But he'd made his choices and so had she... And so without her he'd have to live. 


	76. My only regret.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: "my only regret is not telling you sooner" from a dialogue prompt list.

"My only regret is not telling you I loved you sooner," he whispers into the dark, his hands still yet roaming every inch of her body. It's the night before he's to leave for Dragonstone and he had come to her rooms only to share a private goodbye. And yet, he'd ended up in her bed instead. Not that either of them minded much; they had been teetering upon this moment for weeks now and only the fear of never seeing one another again had sent them both over the edge. 

Her mouth is on his, igniting back the fire in his loins, the warmth seeping from his belly down. "You did," she says softly when she pulls back a moment later, capturing his face between her palms. "Maybe not like this, but I've always known." She recalls every moment that had led them here; Jon's first embrace back at Castle Black. The touch of his hand when she'd woke from a nightmare and already found him at her bedside, as if he'd already known she needed him. His icy exchange with Ramsay Bolton, the war he went to for her and for their home. There were so many moments, so very many that told her the truth of his heart. It was wrong, she supposed, considering their sibling ties... But after years of abuse, years of torture, they deserved to be happy. Even if no one else understood. "You're coming home, right?" She then asks, sapphire eyes finding those Stark gray of his, their solemn gaze warming her to her very core. Those same eyes had never been softer than when he'd unlaced her from her gown. "Swear to me you will come home." 

Home. Home was her, home was right where he was. Jon smiles before he leans in, catching her mouth with his. "I swear to you I will be home before you know it." He smooths back a stray lock of her red hair, still amazed at how soft it feels between his fingers. "I will bring with me an army and a dragon queen if it means protecting you and the North." His mouth trails from hers down her jaw and down further still, just barely touching down against her collarbone. "Sansa... When I come home..." I_ want to spend every single moment of the rest of my life with you... I want to stay beside you... I want to marry you._ He raises his gaze up to her face and she smiles, threading her fingers into his hair. 

"When you come home, spring will come again." She says softly, recalling the dream she'd had only nights before... A dream of a garden overflowing with flowers, of sunlight warming her skin, with Jon at the center and his arms outstretched towards her. "Just come home, Jon, please." He nods before he buries himself against her, their bodies so close it was as if they ceased to be separate. They lay together a long while, just a tangle of limbs and love. 

Improper as it may have been, Jon remained there in her bed until the morning call came, uncaring of who might stumble into her rooms and find them together like this. The risk of being found did not outweigh the warmth of her skin or the feel of her lips on his. But when the call came, he knew he had to rise, he knew he had to go. And so he dressed quietly beside her bed, leaning over her as she still yet slept soundly in the bed they had shared all night long. He pressed a kiss against her temple and silently slipped from the room, knowing with him he would carry the memory of that night. That memory would keep him moving even during the darkest of nights at Dragonstone. 

And she would carry something as well, something more than a memory. Something that would get her through the long days and nights without him. 


	77. I thought you loved her better than me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: i honestly dont remember, lol. enjoy some angsty smut.

When there comes a knock to her door, Sansa knows it's Jon.

She would know his knock from anyone else's, but it helped knowing she had been avoiding him for the last two days. Sansa knows that it's childish, but she can't help it. Everywhere she turns, she sees him with her and it sets her heart on fire. Jon had returned home from Dragonstone with a beautiful, silver-haired Targaryen queen on his arm, riding into Winterfell like a true King in the North, though he'd given up such a title to the same queen he stood beside. She had thought he might return home to her and to whatever it was that was surely sparking between them... But she had truly been wrong. The pain that had come with such a realization was unlike any pain she's felt in her young life thus far, that she was quite certain of. 

Though she sighs, she rises up from her chair to open the door, revealing him standing there in the hall. He looks somber, his dark hair neatly pulled back and his furs shed. "Sansa," he says at once, his face lighting up with relief and joy. For the last two days, he's been trying and trying to get her alone, but she's done her very best to avoid him entirely. Not that he can blame her; she's angry with him, as was her right, but he wants her to understand. He wants for her to understand his motives. He opens his mouth to speak, but she steps aside then, allowing him to cross into her room so she can shut the door behind him. "I thought you might be in bed," he says, though the fire in her hearth burns brightly and she remains fully clothed in her black and gray gown. She's unpinned her long, red hair and his fingers twitch, suddenly filled with a sense of urgency to touch it. To run his fingers through it. "It is late." 

Sansa smiles, she can't help it. How is it that he does this to her? She only wishes to be angry, but just the sight of his soft brown eyes melt even her iciest exterior. "I was late with Lord Royce," she says after a moment, gesturing for him to sit wherever as she sits on the edge of her bed. "I thought you would be with her," she says before she can stop herself, not proud when Jon flinches. She meant not to cause him hurt, but her heart and her pride were both wounded. Such a wound would make even the tamest of wolves snap. 

He winces at her words. "Sansa, please... let me explain..." He begins, but she shakes her head, raising her sapphire gaze to meet his. 

"There's no need," she speaks quietly, lips pursed only to keep them from trembling. "I understand quite well." This is not what this moment was supposed to become, but it's spiraling before her very eyes. Inside her chest, her heart pounds, her stomach sinking to her knees. 

Jon opens his mouth to speak, but she jumps to her feet, making to push past him. He takes her by the arm as she goes, forcing her back around to face him. "You don't!" He rasps before he crushes her against him. She struggles for only a moment and then she yields to his embrace, hands clutching the front of his shirt as she buries her face into the crook of his shoulder. "You don't understand..." He speaks softly, breath warm against the shell of her ear. One hand presses into the small of her back while the other wraps around the back of her head, red hair slipping through his fingers like silk. "I'd spend every moment of every day with you, but I must... I must do this." When his words trail off, Sansa lifts her face to him, blue eyes widening ever so slightly. "It was the only way... To protect the North, to protect you." His hand that once curved the back of her head makes its way to touch her cheek, her skin warm beneath his palm. "Please, believe me." 

His soft plea undos her and she can hear no more. 

Instead, she leans in and captures his mouth with hers. It is a soft kiss, a gentle kiss... At first. Jon wraps his arms around her once more, closing the gap between them. She's reminded of the night before he had left, when he had held her in the same fashion, kissing her as if he could never get enough of her. His hands wander the length of her body, stopping only when they reached her hips; there he squeezed, drawing her closer still, sending a rush of fire through her veins. "Jon!" She gasps when he finally breaks the kiss, if only to catch his breath, though his lips find their way down her jaw and she tilts her head back so he can kiss down the hollow of her throat. Her hands slide into his dark curls and his meet behind her, fingertips trailing the curve of her spine. "I thought you loved her better than me," she admits just before his mouth returns to hers, speaking the truth that weighs heavily upon her aching heart. 

"I love no one better than you," he whispers back, kissing her so deeply he sweeps her off her feet. It's then that he's urging her backwards, guiding her backwards until she feels her knees bump into the side of her bed. "No matter what I say, no matter what I do... It is you that I love." His voice ghosts across her skin as his lips leave hers once again, this time down until they meet the fabric of her gown that shields her body from his prying eyes. He raises his face then, brown eyes meeting blue. "You believe me?" He asks, nearly echoing the words he'd spoken only a few minutes before. It's only a moment before she gives a single nod, knowing deep in her heart that he is truthful. Jon, the only man who's never hurt her, who's always loved her... He would not lie to her. He would not hurt her. 

And it's then that he turns her around and his hands reach for the laces of her gown, slowly unlacing them until her gown is slipping from her shoulders. When she turns back around, Jon takes a single step back, watching with growing arousal as she slides the gown down from her body. He reaches for her then, palm enclosing her breast through the thin material of her chemise, but that touch ignites a fire within her. 

Giving her a gentle push, Jon can't help but to smirk when she lands comfortably on her back on her bed, red hair wild around her face. He pulls his own shirt over his head and climbs onto to bed, leaning over her to kiss her again; he'd never grow tired of kissing her, that much he knew. Her chemise rides up and he slips a hand beneath its hem, fingers exploring the warm expanse of her stomach, further up still until her breasts were in his grasp once again. "How could I ever love anyone more than this?" He breathes as her hands reach for the laces of his breeches. There was no comparing Sansa to any other woman for they could never compare. She was like the moon in his starry night sky, she was like the soft snowflakes that fell just outside the window. She was like a dream come true. 

He's tugging her chemise over her head then and she's unlacing his breeches, helping him from them with a sudden urgency she's never felt before. Their first time together had been soft and gentle, sweet and slow. This time was frantic and wild, as if deep down they both feared it might be their last. He slides into her and she's gasping, straining, arching against his every movement. She's desperate to feel his touch and his hands are everywhere; in her hair, on her chest, down to her hips and everywhere between. Every thrust she meets and their hips grind in the most delicious of ways, each one sending waves of pleasure rushing through her. Jon's moan is deep when she arches her back against a particular thrust of his and she smirks knowing what she's capable of doing to him. 

But then he's slowing his movements, true torture. Her hands claw their way down his back, uncaring of the scratches her nails leave behind, a mewl of frustration leaving her lips as he pulls nearly free from her, tormenting her with his slow but deliberate movements. But then his name is a moan escaping her as he slowly returns the length of him into her, chuckling at the sound she makes when he does. Such a sound is enough to nearly undo him and he finds himself fighting to regain control so it doesn't end yet. He puts a hand to her hip for leverage and suddenly her legs are wrapped around his waist, anchoring him against her. She's crying out so loudly that he wonders if they might be overheard;_ let them hear us,_ he thinks stubbornly, knowing there was nothing that could take him from her right then and there. The change in position has done it for him though and Jon can only groan as he spills his seed, his entire body like jelly as he drops down onto the bed beside her, panting. She rolls over towards him, arm flung across his chest as she buries her face into his neck, breathing just as hard as he was.

As they lay beside each other a short while later, she sleeps soundly with her head against his shoulder. Jon can't help but to watch her, idly playing with a lock of her hair that trails across his chest. In truth, he would have stayed there forever with her like this. Anything she asked of him, he would have given to her, even the sun and the stars and the moon from the skies above. He was hers, heart and soul, no matter the part he had to play for everyone else. He loves her, he loves her with his entire being, with his every fiber. 


	78. Time passes slower without you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: time passes slower without you. probably a dialogue prompt list or something similar.

The room is full of tension.

Tension so thick she could cut it with the knife Arya has given her to protect herself, though from what danger her little sister sees lurking in the shadows Sansa knows not. She does know though, that if looks could indeed kill, she would already be dead. The dragon queen stares at her with such an intense gaze that Sansa wonders if she's looking at a dragon itself, rather than a self proclaimed queen with such a little claim to a throne she's never even seen before. 

It is days since the battle against the Night King and already this queen wishes to travel south, to King's Landing, so she might reclaim the throne she says belongs to her. Her depleted armies, battle worn and cold, she cares little for, Sansa knows this well now. Daenerys Targaryen cares for little beyond herself. 

When the queen stalks from the room, her minions at her heels, Jon makes a move as if he means to follow, but it is Arya that forces him to remain where she stands. "We must talk," she says sharply, her gaze even sharper. Jon heaves a sigh but turns back to face his two sisters, though his eyes stray to Sansa, as they always do. "Not here, you idiot," Arya goes on, her tone a bit more jovial, though she rolls those Stark eyes of hers as she turns back towards Sansa. 

Together, the three make their way down to the godswood, where sure enough Bran already awaits them. It is here that things will change forever. 

[ x x x ]

She paces her room, skirts trailing across the floorboards with her every step. 

Nothing is making sense, and yet... It all makes sense. Jon was not a Stark. No, that wasn't right either, he was a Stark, just not one begotten by her own father's loins. No, he was a true born Targaryen prince, born of the lawful wedding between Rhaegar Targaryen and their aunt, Lyanna Stark. He wasn't just some bastard born son of Ned Stark, but the true heir to the Iron Throne. And more than that... In the midst of all of this.... She knows what resonates with her the most...

Jon isn't her brother.

_Knock, knock._

She stops, turning to face the door to her room, uncertain as to who would come to call so late into the night. It's so late her fire has begun to burn to ash, casting the room into shadow and chilling the air enough that she shivers before reaching the door. She opens it and steps back, tilting her head as she stares into those dark eyes, her heart skipping a beat in her chest. "Jon..." She murmurs his name before stepping back, allowing him entrance to her bed chamber. 

What a strange world she must so suddenly navigate. 

"I couldn't sleep," he says by way of explanation, coming further into the room and stopping over the hearth, feeding kindling into it until it sparked back to life. When he turns back around, she's there in the center of the room, the glow from the firelight bouncing of her Tully red hair. "Not without you." He rasps with a shake of his head, feeling like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders with the admission. 

And though it doesn't feel real, Sansa can't complain when he comes to close the gap between them, crushing her against his chest as his mouth finds hers. His kiss is intense, hungry, but it says everything he's never been able to say to her. She slides her hands into his wild, dark curls, happy to realize that they are soft to the touch as she had always imagined them to be. 

When it's hours later and they lay in her bed, limbs entwined, with Jon stroking the soft skin of her cheek, Sansa can't help but to laugh aloud. "What is it?" Jon asks, ceasing his hand movement as he leans a bit further over her to look into her eyes. 

"It's nothing..." She begins softly, tilting her head to the other side to look towards the window where the moonlight streams in through the frosted windowpane. "It's just... When I'm alone, time goes so slow... All the time you were away, it was like torture for me." She turns back to look at him, a slight frown toying with her rosy lips. "Time passes slower without you and I hate it. But now, here you are and... It's going so fast but I never want it to end." 

Jon does not speak at first, but rather leans over her entirely so he can capture her mouth with his. When he draws back, its to trail his fingers along her jaw, his eyes never once leaving hers. "It never has to end." He says softly, bringing a soft smile to her face that lights her up from within, reminding him of the warm summer sun. "We have all the time in the world now."


	79. Pulling Pins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon & sansa spending what could be their last night together.

He catches her as she walks alone down the corridor towards her rooms. "Sansa," he calls out to her, heart skipping a beat when she turns around, a smile upon her lips. As always, just the sight of that smile threatened to undo him. "I thought you might be in bed already," he says as she gestures for him to follow after her, opening the door to her rooms when they approach it a moment later. 

"I was seeing to the last of the preparations," she says, shifting her gaze towards him as she closed the door behind them. Her rooms were brightly lit with a fire in the hearth, spreading warmth throughout the room. It seeps into her skin, into her bones, but she supposes it's not all because of the warmth of the fire. Sansa knows these are the last few hours of peace before the battle begins and she can't help but to feel a tremor of pleasure that Jon has come to her rooms in these final hours. "Everything seems to be ready," she adds as she brushes her hair across a shoulder, gesturing for him to sit wherever he liked. Jon watches as she sheds her cloak, draping it across her bed before she sinks into the chair before her looking glass. It's then that she hears footsteps and a moment later, she's staring at Jon's reflection in the mirror. He looms over her shoulder, his stoic expression softening as their gazes meet in the glass. 

Jon can't quite say what makes him do what he does next- he supposes he could blame it on knowing he very well could die within hours. The last thing he wants to do is die without at least feeling her fiery red hair against his skin. And so he reaches out, gently prying the first of many pins from her elaborate knot of braids at the back of her head. He sees her close her eyes and smile in the mirror and when she opens her eyes, her gaze is understanding. As always, she gets him completely, without even a word being spoken. For just one night, he wanted normalcy. He wanted to pretend that things were well and there was not a war looming at their door. He wanted to be a man alone with the woman he loved, even if he wasn't supposed to. "Ser Davos said everything was nearly done," Jon speaks softly as his hands draw another pin free and then another. "Thank you... For all you've done to prepare for this." He thinks of her working tirelessly into the nights, ensuring there would be enough food to feed all of the North. He thinks of all the meals she skipped in the last few days just to be certain everyone else had enough to eat. He thinks of her commanding the gates to remain open until the very last moment, just to be certain everyone that could fit into Winterfell was there. He thinks of the extra supplies she had sent to those in the surrounding areas that could not come. All of the people she had thought of, all of the things she had ensured were complete so her people were safe. 

"It's my duty," she whispers as she feels her hair begin to slip free, the pins nearly all pulled from her braids. When he's pulled the final one, she feels him begin to unwind the braids, his fingers slipping through her red strands like a lover might do. She cannot begin to express the feelings rushing through her in a moment such as this, as intimate as any kiss could be. "Jon..." She murmurs his name as she turns around in the chair, her hair falling all around her face as she peers up into his face. He's staring down at her as if he's seeing her for the very first time, as if she's a dream come to life before his eyes. "You'll come back to me, won't you?" She asks the one question she's been too afraid to ask, too afraid to think about. A life without him... Was no life at all. 

He stoops down, one hand gently resting on her shoulder, his face inches from her own. "I'll always come back to you," he says softly, tipping his forehead down to meet hers. "Always." As he goes to pull back, she's leaning in, capturing his mouth with a kiss that steals the breath from his lungs. It takes only a moment for him to kiss her back, his other hand reaching up to slide into her fire kissed hair. She's on her feet then, kissing him with a new fierceness, her hands making their way into his hair, fingers threading through his unruly curls. Jon snakes his other arm around her waist, palm pressing into the small of her back, the heat of her skin warm through her heavy gown. "Sansa..." He murmurs her name when he breaks the kiss a moment later, his hand slipping from her hair to trace the outline of her body all the way down to her hips. 

"If we're going to die tomorrow, I want to know what it's like to lay with a man I love," she whispers with a sense of boldness she's never felt before. Jon blinks, drawing back a hairsbreadth though warmth is spreading through him like wildfire. "Unless you don't want-" he silences her with a kiss of her own, one that sweeps her off of her feet. And so she takes him by the hand and draws him towards her bed, drawing him down upon it. He gently pushes her back against her pillows, returning to the passionate kiss they had only just ceased, his hands making quick work of exploring every inch of her still clothed body. Jon can feel her own hands untying the laces of his jerkin, tossing it to the floor beside her bed. It takes him only a moment more to begin to free her from her own layers of clothes, her gown carelessly thrown aside as he kisses her again. If tonight was going to be the last night of his life, this was certainly how he wanted to spend it. 

Later, Jon lays awake beside her sleeping form, propped up upon an elbow so he might peer down at her. She sleeps peacefully, a hand tucked beneath a cheek, her red hair spread across her white pillow like a fan. He leans over her and brushes a kiss against her temple, knowing without any doubt in his mind that what he felt for her was true and utter love. It was stronger than anything he's ever felt in his life and it warms him to his core. This moment, right there, with her tucked beneath the furs, pressed against his body, would be the one he would carry with him into battle. He would carry with him the warmth of her skin, the softness of her hair, the fierceness of her kiss. 

If his life truly did come to an end on the battlefield, he would take with him to death the memory of her. And that... That was enough. 


	80. Jon kills Daenerys- Scene Rewrite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: rewrite jon killing daenerys.

When he thought about it, he'd known a long time that this was what it would come to.

As he climbs the ash covered stone steps up to where the throne room once stood, Jon knew this had always been his destiny. In a world with Daenerys Targaryen on the throne, no one would be safe, especially those he loved most. He thought of her then, of her fiery red hair and personality to match, and knew whatever happened this day... It was all to protect her and the family he'd always known. 

When he steps through what used to be a doorway, he sees her, ash falling all around her, proof of the destruction she's caused. Her hand is outstretched, nimble fingers grazing the throne she'd been chasing for years. When she finally does turn around, their eyes meet across the way and her face softens, a flicker of the feelings she's always had returning to her eyes. But she turns around then, yet again facing the throne as if it was all that mattered in that moment. "When I was a girl my brother told me it was made from a thousand swords of Aegon's fallen enemies," her voice is full of wonder and Jon can imagine the look on her face. He approached where she stood, careful to keep a safe distance between them- he didn't know how this woman would react to him now, after all that had happened. "What do a thousand swords look like to a little girl that can't count to twenty?" He can hear the smile in her voice long before she turned back around to face him, her violet eyes wide in her porcelain features. As she comes toward him, she still speaks as if all is well between them, as if the last few days had never even occurred. As if even the last few hours had been nothing at all. 

"Grey Worm is executing Lannister soldiers in the street. He says he's acting on your orders," he interrupts, anger surging through him, the whistle of a sword through air still yet ringing in his ears. 

Her face changes, losing its wonderstruck look, replaced with surprise that he would speak to her in such a way. It was as if he'd chastised her for a misplaced toy, not the lives of soldiers she had no right to claim. "It was necessary." Her nostrils flare and Jon sucks in a breath, shaking his head. 

"Necessary?" He asks, his anger white hot, the feeling similar to the day he beat Ramsay Bolton within an inch of his miserable life. "Have you been down there?" He snarls, watching as she takes a step back from him, face torn between sorrow and anger. "Children... Little children _burned_!" His voice echoes around the skeleton of the room and Dany flinches as if he's struck her. He wishes he had. 

"I tried to make peace with Cersei," she says when she's recovered from his outburst. She's teetering on the edge and Jon knows it's dangerous. He's moments away from Drogon burning him alive at her very command. "She used their innocence as a weapon against me." She's blaming Cersei, as she always would, never once taking responsibility for her actions. Jon knew the truth... She had heard the bells, she had known they were surrendering. But she'd burned their city and claimed thousands of innocent lives anyways. "She thought it would cripple me." She says this as if she's proud that it didn't. Jon feels sick. 

"And Tyrion?" 

She shakes her head. "We can't live in a world built on small mercies." She says this of the man she's called her Hand for a long time. Her most trusted adviser, now that Missandei had died. It was true, Tyrion had conspired against her, but out of duty to his own family that Dany would see crushed. 

"What we need is a world of mercy. It has to be!" Jon speaks these words from his heart and Dany softens again, coming closer to him as if she means to take him into her arms. 

"And it will be," she says softly, peering up at him with her violet eyes. He wishes he were looking into blue ones instead. Any moment here could be his last and he only wishes he had seen Sansa one last time. "It's not easy to see something that's never been before," she's smiling that same, strange almost, twisted smile and Jon fights the urge to cringe. "A good world..." She raises her hand and he can feel it pressed against his chest, against the strong pace of his heart. 

"How do you know?" 

Tears are brimming in her eyes as she tilts her head back ever so slightly to gaze up at him, her lips parting as she lets out a breath. "Because I know what is good." She says simply, as if that was the only answer he needed to hear. Images of blood shed and charred bodies run rampant in his mind, the sight of Arya's battered face lingers longer than all the rest. "And so do you." 

"And what of the others... Who think they know what's good too?" 

This time her smile is amused, but he can see the frenzied look that's made itself a permanent place in her eyes. "They don't get to choose." He thinks of Sansa and how she will never back down from this queen, no matter the punishment. He thinks of her soft, white skin charred black by dragon fire until there's nothing left of her. "Be with me, Jon... Break the wheel with me." Daenerys is tugging him down, her mouth capturing his a moment later. This is it, he tells himself as he slides one arm around her waist, drawing her in as he returns the kiss she's giving.

And then he stabs her. 

When she pulls back, there's nothing on her face but absolute shock. Her violet eyes are wide and staring at him as if she can't believe what he's done. As he lets her go, she looks down at the sword in her gut and then she falls, sinking to the ground until she's flat on her back, choking on her own blood. Her lips move as if she means to say something, but she can no longer speak; Jon watches until she's gone, until he's certain the job is done. His hands are shaking as he pulls the blade from her body, the words of Ned Stark echoing in his thoughts: _If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. _

And he had done just that. 


	81. Jim Frost joins the queensguard.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jim frost comes to wintefell to protect the queen as part of her queensguard.

It seemed as if every able bodied man in the North had turned out for the tournament to win the last open spot in the queensguard. Protected by her ever loyal, Brienne of Tarth, the Queen in the North had insisted she needed no more than her, but the Lords and Brienne herself had insisted upon adding just a few more men to her guard. And so through rounds of the tournament, three more men had been added to the guard, men from faithful houses that had remained beside House Stark for many years prior. 

But, there was still one final place that remained, and so it would be filled on this last day of the tournament. 

From where she sat in the queen's box, Sansa watches as the first of the final competitors steps out onto the battlefield. It was a makeshift battlefield of course, a large circle roped off that gave the competitors just enough space to fight with ease. There was no death matches, no blood to be drawn, merely a sword battle until one man's sword was knocked from his hands. Only the best of the best would be admitted into the queen's guard. The first man approaches the box and bows low over his arm, offering his queen a confident smile. She returns his smile and turns her head only when the next competitor steps onto the field. 

At once, her heart is in her throat. She knows it is Jon, though his hair is long and wild. His dark eyes find hers as he crosses the space to approach the box. Without a word, he fishes into his tunic and pulls out a single winter rose, it's blue petals soft against her skin as she takes it from his hand. "Good luck, sir," she says to him with a smile, her heart beating faster as Jon turns to face his opponent. She tucks the rose he's given her into her hair and recalls how Jon's father had once given his mother a crown of winter roses at a tournament once, before pledging his love for her. She smiles. 

It is a well fought match, so close that for only a single moment does Sansa worry that he will lose the fight. But in the end, Jon comes out as the winner. As customary, Brienne stepped out onto the field to join the winner- if she recognized Jon, then her features did not betray her. "Your name, sir?" She asked of him before all those witness to the fight. 

"Jim Frost," Jon says clearly, his voice ringing out, and Sansa has to bite her tongue to keep from laughing aloud. His dark eyes are twinkling as they fall upon her, still there in the queen's box, his mouth upturned with his amusement. He comes closer once again, this time to bow to her as a true knight might bow to his queen, raising himself only when she bids him to do so. "I pledge my life to you, my queen." He speaks, the words my queen having more meaning than ever before. For once, he his more than willing to devote his life to a queen, to a woman. This woman who has captured him, heart and soul. He had tried to stay away from her, but could not, and upon hearing the need for a new queensguard, had stolen away from Castle Black to take his place at her side. 

Sansa smiles again as she extends her hand out over the box for him to take, as she had done for all other new members of her guard. But with Jon, she feels it down to her very core as he presses his lips against the back of her hand, thumb ghosting across her knuckles as he hesitates to let her go. "You are most welcome here, Jim Frost," she says with an amused sort of smile, finally drawing her hand away from his grasp. Welcome home, is what she wants to say, but here before all of these people she cannot. And so instead she tilts her head, red hair cascading across a shoulder as she finally speaks. "Welcome to Winterfell." 


	82. No suitor is good enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: ghost keeps scaring off sansa's suitors... or is it ghost at all?

She hates this part.

She hates this part of being queen- of the endless line of suitors that come and go as they please, bringing assortments of gifts and unnecessary things in their wake. On one hand, she understands the need and the importance of securing an heir, but it's not even been a year since her crowning and she'd only like to enjoy it alone while she can. 

Besides...

There's no time left to think, for the doors open and her newest suitor struts into the throne room. He's the oldest living son of some Lord or another, shorter than her, and stout. Not that looks are everything, she reminds herself as she forces a smile. At her feet, Ghost raises his head and growls, low in his chest, a warning at the approaching man. As usual, he recoils, (they always do) and she is careful to hide her disappointment. "My queen." The man greets when he's recovered from his encounter with Ghost, dropping to one knee as was customary in the North. His voice clings to the accent nearer the Vale and the hilt on the sword strapped to his left hip was etched with fish scales, proof of the loyalty his family had for her Tully relatives. "It is an honor." 

"Rise, Ser Mychel," she speaks in slow tones, gesturing for him to rise back to his full height. "You need not fear Ghost," she goes on with a laugh, noticing the quick glances the man throws the wolf. Ghost has sat up now, his size much more apparent when he sits nearly as high as the queen does upon her throne. His red eyes seem quite menacing to most men, though Sansa looks into them and feels safe, calm even. But even she can feel the fire behind his gaze as he looks at the man before them. "He is only but my most loyal companion. He would call himself a lap dog if he could speak." She smiles, thinking of the wolf squeezing into her bed whenever she had a nightmare. 

They make small talk and eventually, Sansa bids him a nice night so she might retire to her rooms.

When Shae has stripped her from her heavy gown and helped her into a fresh nightgown, Sansa sinks onto her bed with a sigh. There comes a scratching at her door and Shae opens it, allowing Ghost to dart into the room and drop to the floor before the fire. Shae was not frightened of the wolf and often times Sansa found her lady stroking the wolf's shaggy white fur. "Your wolf has scared off another suitor," Shae comments as she hangs the discarded gown on a peg along the wall. "Some might begin to suspect he's being controlled," Shae pins her queen with those dark brown eyes and Sansa raises her shoulders in a shrug, as if she knows nothing of what Shae means. Shae sighs and rolls her eyes, but does not press the subject. 

As Sansa settles into bed a few hours later, she smiles as Ghost climbs into her bed, curling himself up at her feet where she's left him the space. In the darkness, their eyes meet and she smiles, reaching out to touch the wolf's head. "Good night." She whispers into the dark and then closes her eyes, knowing tonight she'll dream of Jon. 


	83. Jon's Nightmares.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon is always saving sansa, now it's her turn to save him.

"Please... You don't have to give up your bed to me." Her voice is soft and her gaze even softer, but Jon smiles, reaching out to tenderly touch her cheek. His fingertips trace her skin, ghosting along her jaw and down to touch her red hair, loose around her face. Every moment with him is breath catching, every moment leaving her heart beating faster. 

"I want to," he finally speaks, his voice barely a thread, his Stark gray eyes never straying from hers. "It's my duty to protect you," he knows she cannot sleep, he knows she suffers nightmares of all kinds. "If it means you have one night of sleep, then it's worth it for the both of us." He smiles and she sucks in a breath, giving him a single nod as he takes her by the hand and leads her from her room. 

He had come to check on her, as he so often did before retiring himself. This particular night it had been far later than usual, well past midnight, when he ducked his head into her chamber door. Instead of seeing her asleep in her bed, he found her seated before the fire, wrapped in a blanket, crying to herself. As if attuned to his every move, she had turned to face him, her sapphire eys swollen and red, her lips trembling as they parted with his name. 

They cross the threshold into his chamber and he closes the door behind them, leading her towards the bed sitting against the west wall. "Go on," he murmurs softly, pulling back the fur covers and gesturing for her to climb into his bed. She does as he says, sliding into place in the bed, snuggling down against his pillow, breathing in the familiar scent of him. Jon tucks the blankets around her and he sinks down, leaning over her so he can press a kiss to her temple. "Sleep well, Sansa," he brushes a lock of hair from her face as she closes her eyes, drifting off to sleep in the comfort and warmth of Jon's own bed. 

And he... He lays down on the floor at the bedside, pulling over him a spare fur blanket he'd taken from the bed. Jon breathes in deep and lets it go, thinking of her as he closes his eyes. He opens them a moment later and sees her hand there on the edge of the bed, just within reach. And so he reaches for her, taking her small but warm hand into his grasp and he closes his eyes once again, this time allowing sleep to claim him. 

[ x x x ]

She's not slept long when she wakes from the feel of her hand jerking, then the cool touch of air as his skin slips away. Blinking, she sits up, leaning over the edge of the bed to peer down at Jon there on the floor beside her. He's moaning softly, head turning back and forth against the pillow he slept against, the hand once holding hers now a tight fist over his blanket. A nightmare, she thinks, sympathy rising up within her as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed, careful of where his body lay.

He had brought her to his rooms to help her sleep when it was he that still yet suffered. Sansa bit her lower lip and sank to the ground, drawing with her a second blanket, knowing it was probably improper for her to do what she was about to do. But in that moment, she could only think about bringing him the comfort he always tried to bring to her. And so she lay down beside him, inching closer to him until she could hook one arm over his chest, her head nuzzled against the expanse of his neck. It was only a moment longer that he struggled and then his body relaxed, his head turning to face hers as he drifted into a calm, steady sleep. 

For a while she lay there awake at his side on the floor, buried deep beneath the blankets and pressed close to his warm body. She knew he slept soundly by the even rise and fall of his chest and she could not help but to smile, knowing she had brought him even the smallest ounce of comfort while he slept. Sansa reminded herself to be gentler with Jon, even when they didn't see eye to eye, for he too was facing demons. Just like her, he had a darkness he was trying to escape. 

She nuzzles just a little bit closer to him and wills herself back to sleep. And just as she's about to drift off, she feels Jon arm come up to meet hers, his hand slipping back into hers. She smiles to herself as he whispers words into the dark... _"Thank you, Sansa." _


	84. That look she's got.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon cant deny that look sansa's got. modern au.

"Ahhh, Sansa..." She's doing that thing again, screwing her face up in the most adorable of ways, bottom lip jutted out in a prominent pout. "Don't give me that puppy dog face! How am I supposed to say no to that?" Silence descends and she's not backing down, her sweet face breaking him down as it always did. How she could do this to him, he'd never understand. Especially when he knew what she was up to. But there was something about her that he could just never say no to. "Fine, I'll go, but I'm going to get drunk." The moment he's spoken, she's giggling, the pout fading as she drops down onto the bed beside him. 

She's asked him to attend some hoity-toity event hosted by her best friend, the beautiful and rich Margaery Tyrell. Jon hated attending such events, suits and champagne were not quite his vibe. But, he would enjoy seeing Sansa clad in the tight black dress she'd bought for the event a few weeks prior. 

"It won't be so bad, you know," she says before she kisses him, red hair brushing his arm as she leans in. "You can get as drunk as you like but if you throw up-" she wags her finger at him with a half-hearted stern expression. "You're on your own. I'll pretend I don't know you." It's Jon's turn to laugh as he surges forward, pinning her into place against her pillow, forehead tipped down against hers. "You might even have fun, you never know." 

"I can think of at least seven other things that would be infinitely more fun than Margaery's fancy dinner party," he replies with a smirk, dark eyes gleaming as they meet gazes with her sapphire ones. "But I would like to see you in that dress," he gestures wildly towards the closet where he knows her dress hangs. "And I can't wait to tear it off you when we come back home." He breathes such words against the shell of her ear and Sansa feels the shivers race her spine as she threads her fingers through his curls. He draws back as if he means to return to her side, but she whimpers, a new expression falling into place on her features. 

Now that was a face he could never deny, either. 


	85. I should have listened to you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon tells sansa everything he should have told her from the start.

_The godswood, tonight. _   
_Please. _

The snow crunches beneath her every step as her feet carry her the familiar path towards the godswood. Even now, she feels the familiar flutter of memory as she takes this way, walking the same path she had once walked to marry Ramsay Bolton. But tonight, with the moon high above her and the snow falling, she feels no fear from the memory- but rather strength. The strength that has kept her going all these long weeks without him, in the strength that has kept her sane in these days since his return. "Jon..." His name is a breath on her lips as she approaches him there beneath the heart tree, his back to her for only a single moment. When he turns to face her, he's pale and drawn, as if he's been dealt an emotional blow. But when he takes in the sight of her, his lips twitch with the quickest of smiles. 

"You came," he finally says and she smiles, looking down for a beat of silence before she looks back up at him, his eyes finding hers. "I wasn't so sure..." 

"Of course I came. I always will, Jon." She speaks quietly, taking another step forward, the gap between them minimal. "We're family." 

_We're family. _

Jon feels his heart turnover, the tightness in his gut unfurling at her two simple words. Relief rushes through him and it's all he can do to keep himself from pulling her into his arms. He doesn't deserve her smile, no matter how small. He doesn't deserve her at all. "There's something I wanted to tell you..." He says instead. "It's about... My mother." Sansa blinks, peering back at him in the darkness of the night. "My mother was Lyanna Stark... My father was Rhaegar Targaryen." He watches as her face changes, surprise taking root, though then something like pity takes over. 

"How do you know?" She asks, her voice stiffer than she meant it to sound. This changes things, she realizes, changes so many things she doesn't know which one too think about first. "If that's true... Jon... You're..." You're the true heir, she thinks in disbelief, giving her head a shake as if this will make it make sense. 

"Bran," Jon interrupts, taking a step closer to her, his hand reaching out to touch her arm_._ "Bran and Sam told me last night." He wants to tell her more, the truth is there on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill over. "There's more..." 

This was it then, this was going to be where he told her the truth about Daenerys. Now Sansa was beginning to piece it all together- the heartache within him, it stemmed from the love he clearly had for the dragon queen. And now that same queen was his own aunt. "You don't have to explain it to me," she says quietly. She can't bear to hear him tell her that he loves Daenerys. 

"Sansa, please... Listen to me." His hand keeps her there when she turns away, as if to go. "About today... About the meeting." She remembers the way the dragon queen had spoken out of turn, about how she implied her dragons would eat as they pleased with no regard for the North or it's people. She also remembers how Jon did not speak up against such a thing, how he gave almost no reasoning behind why he gave away the home they had taken back from their enemies. And she also remembers how she had asked him only last night if it had been because he loved her, that queen of his_. It's not what you think_, he had said, but their conversation was cut short when a knock had interrupted them. Now he's going to tell her what he had not told her that night. "I should have listened to you." He speaks suddenly, bringing her back from the depth of her thoughts. "You told me to be smarter than Robb or... Or father," no matter what, Ned Stark would always be his father. "I didn't listen to you and now... I'm in so deep I'm not sure I can come back up." 

For several moments, she only stares back at him, her sapphire eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "Tell me, Jon." He heaves a sigh, closing his eyes for a single second. When he opens them, it's to nod, knowing here in the moonlight filled godswood, he could finally tell someone the truth. Finally, there would be someone else in his court. And so he opens his mouth and begins to talk. He tells her about arriving in Dragonstone and meeting Daenerys, he tells her about the moment he realized getting her help wouldn't be as easy as he once thought. He tells her about the wight hunt and losing Viserion. He tells her about finally giving in to what Daenerys had wanted, the final thing that would seal their alliance- he slept with her. Jon talks until he's certain he can talk no more. "I swore I would do whatever it took to protect the North... And so I did." He finishes softly, bowing his head as he suddenly felt unworthy to even gaze into her beautiful eyes. There was more, one last thing he wants to say to her, but this moment is not the right one. 

"You should have told me," is all she says at first, shaking her head. "You had me thinking the worst of you." Her face tells him just how badly she felt for thinking whatever it was she had thought of him. Jon could not blame her for such feelings. "I would have been nicer to her if I had known this all," she admits, folding her arms over her chest as she looks away, cheeks burning in the moonlight. Jon feels a smile turning up his lips, realizing then that perhaps Sansa felt quite similar to how he felt for her. 

"You are a bad liar, Sansa, you'd have given me away immediately." Jon teases and she laughs; for a moment, all is well. No war looms ahead of them, no fear of the days to come. For a moment, all is right. 

"Why tell me now, then? It is not over." Sansa questions a moment later; she would still yet have to tolerate the dragon queen's presence and it was as Jon had said, she was a terrible liar. 

His shoulders lift in a shrug. "I knew you to be angry with me... I couldn't live with that any longer." Jon admits, his words bringing color to her cheeks that didn't have to do with the cold. "Besides, I trust you to keep my secret safe. And me too." That was true, giving away this secret of his could very well be the death of him if the wrong person found out about any piece of it. He could trust her to keep his secret safe. "We should go back," he says then, gesturing to the snow that swirled around them, falling harder than it had been only minutes ago. As she falls into step beside him, Jon can't stop himself from slipping his arm around her shoulders, still yet holding onto one final secret. 

They separate at her chamber door, Sansa turning back to him before ducking through it to press a kiss to his cheek. Her smile is quick and warms him all the way through. When she's gone and the door has closed, he touches his fingertips the spot she had kissed, a chuckle on his lips. For a moment, he contemplates knocking, not ready to separate from her. But then to his surprise and ultimate delight, she opens the door again. "Don't go yet," is all she says and when Jon nods, she stands back so he can come into the room.

By the time the door closes, his lips are on hers. 


	86. Am I ever going to see you again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: "am i ever going to see you again?" from a dialogue prompt list.

The sound of the sea waves crashing is all she can hear. 

Standing there at the end of the dock, she's reminded of a time many years ago when she had stood here and watched what she had thought was her future sail away. Bowing her head, she raises a hand to brush the tears from her lashes, knowing tears would do her no good now. Jon will be leaving soon and she has every intention of seeing him off with a smile, though she's uncertain if that's even at all possible. 

"Sansa?" 

She turns at the sound of the voice, blue eyes widening as they fall upon Jon's face. The sound of the waves must have drowned out his approaching footsteps and for a moment, she must gather her bearings for she was not prepared to face him yet. "Jon..." His name is soft upon her lips and she cannot help but to smile when his hand brushes against the curve of her cheek. "I didn't think I would see you until later," she comments as she slides her hand into place over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

"I couldn't leave... Not without seeing you privately, even just for a moment," he admits, drawing his hand away from her face a moment later. It's almost too painful to touch her when he knows it will be a long time before he can do it again. He's going back North, but not to a place with her. He's not to return to Winterfell because it's not what he deserves. After all he's done, all of the mistakes he's made, Jon knows he has much to atone for. He knows they forgive him, he knows Sansa and the others see no blame in him at all, but he does... He does and he knows he cannot simply move on from all that has happened. It's not about killing a tyrant queen or his own blood family, it's about the steps that led him there. All along he had thought he knew what he was doing, thought he was making the best choices to protect his family and the realm... But it was as Ygritte had once said- he knew nothing. 

And so that alone is what will propel him away from Winterfell, away from her. Until he can find forgiveness for himself, he will stray from her side. Though there was no place he would rather be than at her side, Jon knows he doesn't deserve to be there. He looks into her clear blue eyes, shining with tears in the morning sunlight, he can only hope she understands his reasoning. "I'm going to miss you," his voice cracks and he closes his eyes, willing himself to stay calm, to stay strong if only for her benefit. But when he opens his eyes again, tears are streaming down her cheeks, cracking his already bruising heart. "Sansa... I..." 

Swallowing, she gives her head a quick shake, letting out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding onto. "Am I ever going to see you again?" She asks softly, blinking fast against the fresh wave of tears her question brings. To her surprise, Jon gives her a wane smile and yet again reaches for her, trailing his fingertips along her jaw, igniting a fire beneath his touch. 

"I'm not certain I could stay away forever," he says, their eyes meeting, a silent understanding transpiring. Her trembling lips curve with a smile and she nods a moment before she flings herself into his warm embrace. "Next time I see you, I will come to bow to you as queen." He murmurs into her hair, one hand stroking the long red length, the other pressing into the small of her back. "I swear it to you." When he draws back, she's teary-eyed but nodding; against all odds, she believes in him. She has faith in him yet. 

  
When he's climbed aboard the ship that will return him to the North, he turns back and sees her there on the dock. She's dried her tears now and she raises a hand with a silent goodbye, her lips curving with a smile he'll carry with him until he sees her again. 


	87. Visible Pregnancy 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: sansa is visibly pregnant upon jon's arrival from dragonstone.
> 
> the first of the "visible pregnancy" series, which at this point could probably have a story of it's own.

"How do I look?"

Sansa turns to face Brienne who stands at the center of her room, her sworn soldier peers down at her as if she'd like to be anywhere else. "You look... Beautiful, my lady." Brienne replies and Sansa's face immediately tells her that's not the answer she wanted to hear. The young woman heaves a sigh and sinks down into the chair she had once occupied, content on never again showing her face within Winterfell. 

"I cannot face him like this, Brienne." She says, torn between crying and laughing. For the first few weeks of Jon's departure, she had done nothing but anticipate him returning. But now... Now all she could do was wish he was returning alone. It would not be easy to explain to this new ally of theirs why the Lady of Winterfell was pregnant... With her own supposed bastard brother's child. It was true, none needed to know who the father was, certainly no one in the North did (save for Brienne and Bran, who knew everything now, even Arya had her suspicions). Upon learning she was pregnant, she had lamented to Bran over it, and it had been then that he'd told her the truth of Jon's birth. He was not her brother at all, but rather her cousin. It made certain things easier, she supposed, but not all things. Daenerys Targaryen could not know the truth of Jon's birth, that was for certain. It would not bode well for their new alliance. And as the Lady of Winterfell, she could not be down there when the Targaryen queen arrived, it simply wouldn't do. 

"He will be happy, my lady," Brienne ventures to say, though her words earn a laugh from her lady's lips. 

"Shocked, more like it," Sansa mutters, drumming her fingertips across the swollen hump that had become her stomach these last few weeks. "I should have just written him," she had toyed with the idea for weeks, so at least he would not be shocked when he saw her for the first time. But so fearful was she of the letter being intercepted, she had thought better of it. That and she had not anticipated him being gone so long, she thought he would return well before she began to show physical signs of the pregnancy. "He will die in the courtyard of shock before Daenerys Targaryen and our cause will be lost." She heaves another sigh, shaking her fiery red head. And for all she knew, Jon had forgotten her in his time away from Winterfell. It was rumored the dragon queen was beautiful and charming, a creature no man could ever resist. 

Brienne opens her mouth to reply, but she is silenced by a knock on the door. "My lady... They've arrived." Lord Royce says when he's standing before her, bowing low to the lady he's grown to love and respect.

Sansa nods and rises up to her feet, turning to Brienne when she's dismissed the man. "It's time," she says softly, to which Brienne nods, offering her lady her warm, fur cloak. It at least concealed the bump of her belly, she supposed, though Jon would know the moment they embraced. She took a deep breath and made her way out the door and into the hall, there was no time left for worrying. They were here. 

[ x x x ]

Jon can think of no one but Sansa. He comes towards where she stands with Bran, though first he embraces the brother he's not seen in many years. They share several tender moments before Jon can take it no longer and he rises up to reach for her. The moment she's in his arms, he freezes- he can feel the swell of her body against his, a thing he had not felt the last time he'd held her so. As he pulls back, she's blinking back tears, nodding slightly as if to confirm for him the question his eyes must have asked. There is no time at all for them to speak, for behind him he can hear approaching footsteps and knows Daenerys is just behind them. "Your grace... My sister, the Lady of Winterfell," he introduces in what he hopes is a strong, confident voice. His mind is racing, his heart is thumping. 

"Lady Sansa... Your brother has told me a lot about you." Daenerys speaks as she steps closer, all charm and smiles as she gazes upon her. She must befriend this girl, or so Tyrion says. "The North is as beautiful as he claimed, as are you." She compliments with a dazzling smile, her violet eyes bright in the winter sun. "You glow like the moon, in truth." The dragon queen is somewhat shocked by the young woman's radiant beauty, far greater than what she had anticipated. 

Sansa smiles but she can see right through the queen's pretty words and quick smiles. "Winterfell is yours, your grace," she says with a small tilt of her head, her smile half-hearted, her sapphire eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Daenerys draws back ever so slightly, her nostril flaring, telling Sansa her words have upset her. "I trust your journey has been well, please allow me to have you escorted to your rooms to rest and warm up." She raises a hand and Lord Royce is there beside her. "Anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask." Her tone is dismissive, as if she were the queen and not the lady. Daenerys says nothing more but follows after Lord Royce, her small group following close behind.

The moment they've gone, those gathered within the courtyard begin to dismiss- all save for Jon, Sansa, and Bran. "It seems you two must talk," Bran says, breaking the silence that had descended. Sansa nods, looking up from her brother to the man she now called the father of her child, the man she loved with all of her heart. Jon gave a single nod as well, offering her his arm. 

Together they made their way up into the corridors of Winterfell, silent and steady in their walk as they approached her rooms. Once inside, Sansa shut the door behind them and when she turns around to face him, Jon is already rushing for her. He takes her into his embrace, kissing her as he had done the night before he'd left for Dragonstone so many months ago. "I've missed you so," he whispers against her hair, holding her as tightly as he dares, breathing in her still familiar scent of rose water. He steps back then, holding her at arm's length for a long moment. "Is it true, then?" He asks, lifting a hand to gesture down towards her body, still yet concealed by her long cloak. 

Sansa doesn't speak, but rather she pulls free from his touch so she can slip the cloak from her shoulders, tossing it aside; in just her black gown, her pregnancy is quite apparent. Jon's mouth quivers as he sinks down, hands coming to touch the bump of her belly, as if in awe of it. "I cannot believe it," he whispers as he leans in, pressing his forehead against her, drawing back with a surprised laugh when he feels the child press back. "He moves!" He says, his excitement apparent, and Sansa could cry from joy. 

"You are happy?" She asks and at once, Jon is on his feet again, palms cupping her cheeks as he brings her in close to kiss. 

"How can I not be?" He asks, tears stinging his eyes. It is true, he's got twice as much to worry about, but in the end it would all be worth it. He knows others won't understand, what with their sibling bond, but Jon doesn't care who understands them. He loves her and that's all he cares about. "I love you, Sansa, I love both of you." Jon presses his hand against the swell of her belly yet again, smiling when he feels hers fall into place over his. 

"There's something else I must tell you," she thinks back to what Bran had told her the night he'd told her the truth of Jon's birth. _You must be the one to tell him the truth._ And so she opens her mouth and begins to speak- she tells him everything that Bran had told her, she tells him everything he needs to know. 

[ x x x ]

That night when she crawls into her bed, Jon is already there. 

"I have dreamed of this," he whispers as he draws her into his arms, their hands tangled together over her belly. "It's all I've ever wanted," he admits, nuzzling against her, the feel of her warm body pressed against his all he'd longed for in his time away. "You're all I've ever wanted." He clarifies and Sansa smiles in the dark. In the morning, they would have to talk about what they would do from there on. But for now, they only had to think of spending the night in one another's arms. For now, all they had to worry about was if the other was warm enough, if the other was comfortable enough. For now, they only had to think about each other and the little life they had created. 

For now, it was only them. 


	88. Visible Pregnancy 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: a continuation of the visible pregnancy fic, this time dany discovering it.

When the knock sounds on her solar door, Sansa is unprepared.

"Come in," she calls, thinking it to be Lord Royce returning, so she doesn't look up when the door opens. "Were you able to look into-" she stops dead when she looks up and sees who stands in her doorway. It is not Lord Royce at all, nor anyone at all she wishes to see.

"It's customary for a lord or lady to rise when their queen enters the room," Daenerys says with a strained smile when she realizes the young woman had no intention of rising without prompting. Sansa feels her heart skip a beat but she knew she could not avoid this moment any longer. And so she rises to her feet, exposing to the dragon queen what she had come to her room to see. "Ah, so it is true then," Daenerys goes on, violet eyes flicking the Lady of Winterfell up and down, taking in the sight of her newly grown belly. "I suppose you are not the first woman to birth a bastard." She had heard the rumors of what this girl suffered, both at the hands of the Lannister's and the Bolton's here in her own home. Daenerys supposed of all women, she deserved to find some form of pleasure in sex, whether it be with a man she was married to or not. She approaches the desk then, gesturing for Sansa to take a seat as she herself sits in one of the chairs that sits opposite her.

"The child isn't a bastard," the words are out of her mouth so fast she can't stop them. Daenerys' eyes widen and Sansa sits forward, shuffling a few papers together atop her desk. "I only mean the child will have the Stark name, regardless of my lack of marriage to their father." This much was true- with the few exceptions, her title was greater than most, and so her child would retain her own name. Besides... Jon had just as much Stark blood as he did Targaryen. Their child would be a Stark, always. She tries to hide her smile, wondering what look the dragon queen would wear when she someday learned the truth of the child's father.

Daenerys smiles that same strained sort of smile as she leans in, violet eyes meeting Sansa's blue. "Lady Stark, I would like to be friends. I'm afraid that you and I are at odds... And I can't imagine why." Sansa blinks and leans back in her chair, hands folding over the swell of her stomach. "I have come North to fight your brother's war, putting my own battle for the throne on hold. We are as much allies as Jon and I are."

"Jon's war?" Sansa asks, careful to keep her tone easy going; she recalls the tones she once used against Joffrey and knows what she learned back then in King's Landing is going to be put to use now as well. "If you are the rightful queen of this land, then surely it is not Jon's war, but your own." She watches as Daenerys' face changes, her violet eyes darkening with the rise of her temper. "As queen, is it not your duty to protect the realm from those who would cause us harm?" She smiles sweetly, head tilted ever so slightly. "You come to us from a foreign land, with a foreign army and dragons that threaten to starve us all... And you ask us to bow and to call you your grace yet you say you've come to fight our war, as if you are doing us a favor. Let me give you some advice, your grace, if you wish to be respected as queen, perhaps you should earn it."

The dragon queen opens her mouth to speak but there comes a knock on the door, silencing her before she can speak. "Your grace, Sansa," Jon greets, stepping into the room as he looks from one woman to the other. The tension in the room is palpable. Jon's eyes focus on Sansa for only a moment before he turns to face Daenerys. "It seems that supper is ready, but we are waiting for our queen," crowned or not, it was custom to wait to eat until the visiting royal or highest ranking person was in the room.

Daenerys rises from where she sits, turning her back to Sansa so she can cross the room to join Jon where he stands. "I need only a moment alone with my sister," Jon adds, noticing the dark glance Daenerys throws Sansa before she nods and passes him by, letting the door fall closed behind her with a bang. "You two are becoming fast friends it seems," Jon says as Sansa too rises from her chair, coming around the desk to stand before him. "What did you say to her?" He eyes her skeptically when she offers him an innocent sort of smile, as if to say she'd done nothing wrong.

"I only told her the truth," Sansa began, but cut herself off with a gasp. Concern took root on Jon's features, but she only smiles as she reaches for his hand, placing it against the side of her belly. "Can you feel?" She asks with excitement, to which Jon nods, his face full of wonder as he sinks down further, pressing his cheek against the spot where the baby was moving.

"Strong," he murmurs as he rises back up, though his hand remains in place against her belly, content on feeling every flutter of movement against his palm.

"They know you already," she says with a smile, sliding her hand into place over his. They had not had many moments alone since his return home, but already it seems their child knows its father. "She seems more upset at you not escorting her to dinner than over what I said to her," she goes on, returning to their earlier conversation as she loops her arm through his. Anyone who didn't know them would think them a newly married couple, happily expecting their first child. "She calls herself queen but in the same breath calls the war against the Night King Jon's war, as if it would not be her problem if she sat upon the throne."

Jon chuckles, shaking his head as he turns them out into the main corridor. Sansa was the only person he knew who dared speak up against this dragon queen, most were too frightened of her dragons to cross her. "Tell me that is not what you said to her."

The look she shoots him is anything but an innocent one. "That's not what I said to her." She parrots back and Jon rolls his eyes, but gives her arm an affectionate squeeze. "Besides, someone must. Her dragons will starve us all before the Night King comes and she cares not." Had their conversation lasted even a moment longer, she'd have told Daenerys such a thing.

"Just promise me you won't say anything more... You don't know her like I do. She won't like your disrespect. She's executed men for less." Jon says softly, turning his head to look at her. She blinks those sapphire colored eyes, mouth turning with a frown, but she finally nods. A wave of relief washes through him and as they approach the great hall, she wiggles from his grasp, perhaps knowing it would only anger Daenerys more to see her upon his arm. Instead she goes into the hall first, slipping by the queen at the head of the table without more than a glance. Jon sets himself between them and those within the room return to their plates, only distracted by the entrance of their Lady and one time king.

She will do as Jon says, she supposes, she will try to curb her tongue when it comes to the dragon queen. She will try to play nicely with her, though she would rather cross the icy cold river once again than exchange fake pleasantries with the woman. But... It was not just her own well being she had to worry about now. As if the child within her knew she was thinking of them, they moved, a small fist or foot making a connection that made her jump. That was who she had to play nice for- not for herself, not for anyone but the baby growing strong within her. And so she sighs deeply before leaning over Jon, offering the dragon queen what she hopes in an apologetic sort of smile. "Jon tells me you are an accomplished rider, your grace. I should like to hear to hear of your time riding in your khalasar." Her comment does the trick and Daenerys' face softens, violet eyes gleaming in the torchlight.

You can do this, she tells herself, you can do this. And so she will, she will make friends with this queen, if only to protect the future of her child.


	89. Visible Pregnancy 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: dany tries to handle the surprise of sansa's pregnancy, but jon isn't having it.

No one knew why the dragon queen had called a small meeting and so as they all gathered in the great hall, they could only wonder. 

Taking her place at the head table, Sansa's eyes drift towards the queen that already sits in her place at the center. Her elaborate braids are as detailed as ever, the soft tendrils of curls falling out to frame her soft features. Who would ever have known what a harsh, cold heart hid behind such soft, perfect face. "Thank you for coming together on such short notice," the dragon queen speaks as she glances around the room. There are few Northern lords within the room, none in fact, save for Lord Royce who sits beside Ser Davos. Most are outside the walls of Winterfell, completing any and al final tasks before the Night King strikes. They all should have been out there. "I have only a simple matter I'd like to discuss with you here in this room." Beside her, Jon shifts and Sansa feels his hand brush across hers beneath the table- a quick touch that ignites a fire within her. 

At that moment, Tyrion steps forward from where he stands just behind Daenerys, his green eyes dark, his expression unreadable. "As some of you know, Lord Tyrion was once married to Lady Stark," Daenerys speaks and at once, Sansa feels her heartbeat increase its speed. Jon stiffens- noticeably- and turns to look at the woman on his other side. "In an effort to preserve the alliance between the North and myself, I would like to propose that such a marriage be reinstated." She smiles, a smug look in her violet eyes as she shoots Sansa a quick glance. "Lord Tyrion is gracious enough to accept her pregnancy and says he will raise the child as his own." 

Those within the room all turned, their eyes darting between the dragon queen and their Lady of Winterfell. Sansa does her best to keep her face impassive, though her blood has begun to boil. How dare she, she thinks, sapphire eyes narrowing as they turn upon the Targaryen queen. How dare she think she can command me to marry. As if the child within her senses the danger, they shift, reminding her that she must keep calm. She opens her mouth to retort, to speak against such a marriage- she would run away from Winterfell, from her own home, her own family, rather than be forced to marry against her will yet again. But before she can speak, another is speaking for her. 

"Lady Stark shall not marry," Jon rules without hesitation, his dark eyes falling upon Daenerys. Let her rail against him, let her turn away from their alliance. He would die before he allowed Sansa to marry someone she did not wish to marry. He would die before he let another man have her. "She shall not marry until it is her choice. Sansa, is it your wish to marry Lord Tyrion?" 

Sansa blinks, realizing Jon is speaking to her. "N-no," she says when she finds her voice, shaking her head as she turns to look at Tyrion. "I appreciate the gracious offer, your grace," she continues, shifting her gaze from Tyrion to Daenerys. "But I am not inclined to marry anyone." Daenerys looks as if she's swallowed a lemon, her face pinched in her anger though she tries to keep it from showing through. She is quite unused to being defied, she supposes, and had expected to hear nothing but agreement when it came to her sudden proposal. 

"You will marry as your queen commands you," Daenerys speaks through gritted teeth, violet eyes narrowing as she focuses her gaze upon her. 

"I see no command from my queen." Sansa quips back, leaning forward in her chair, one hand curling around her belly. "When you sit upon the Iron Throne, perhaps then you may command your nobles to do as you please... But until then, I will remain unmarried." She knows she's gone too far, that she's spoken to far out of turn, but there's no taking back the words now that they've been spoken. Suddenly, it matters not what this foreign queen wants or says or commands. And so she rises from her chair, belly on display in her dark gray gown, and turns her back on the woman who calls herself her queen. 

"You have not been dismissed, Lady Stark," Daenerys calls, pausing Sansa as she walks towards the door across the hall. The Lady of Winterfell only turns to throw a glance over her shoulder before she continues on her way, hearing the sounds of footsteps as Brienne and Arya follow her out the door, forming a protective wall between her and the angry violet eyes that follow her out. 

As soon as the door swings shut behind her, Sansa leans against the wall, breathing deep, even beaths as her hands come around her belly. "Are you alright?" Arya asks as she approaches, touching her sister's elbow with careful concern. Sansa nods, doing her best to calm her racing heart. She knew she risked danger by defying the dragon queen in such a way, but she could not help it. "You should rest," Arya continues and again, Sansa nods, allowing the two women to escort her back towards her rooms. 

[ x x x ]

Sansa... 

She's dreaming of Jon; of his dark, knowing eyes and the warmth his touch spreads through her. Sansa... She's dreaming of his voice, of the way it sounds every time he spoke her name. "Sansa..." She wakes, realizing only then that she's not been dreaming of his voice at all, for her sits there beside her in her own bed. "Dreaming, sweetheart?" He asks softly, a chuckle leaving his lips as he helps her sit upright. How long had it been since she had last heard him laugh?

"What's happening?" She asks at once, fear creeping into her heart as she reaches for his hands. 

Jon smiles and shakes his head. "Soft, my love. I've come to fetch you is all." 

"Fetch me for what?" She questions, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she sits up a bit straighter in bed. "It is the middle of the night!" 

"Dress and you shall see," Jon commands, rising up from the bed and drawing her up with him. "Can you manage alone?" He teases and she rolls her eyes, slipping from her heavy nightgown into the discarded gray dress she'd been wearing earlier that day. "Let me..." He says softly when she shrugs into it, the laces hanging freely at her back. And so she turns around, allowing him to lace her into the gown. A moment later he reaches for the fur cloak she had draped over a chair and fastens it around her himself. "Come." Is all he says as he takes her hand, leading her from the room without another word. 

Arya stands just outside her door, surprising her even more. "Arya!" Sansa speaks in a hushed whisper, blinking at her little sister who merely smirks and gestures for them to follow her. The trio navigates the darkened corridors, nothing to lead them but the memory of the halls in their feet. They walk until they reach the main hall, where Arya quietly opens the double doors that lead out into the courtyard. "Jon, truly where are we going?" Sansa whispers as he draws her out into the cold, midnight air. But Jon merely smiles and shakes his head as they begin to cross the yard towards the godswood.

And then she sees that two people are beneath the heart tree, a single torch stuck into the ground at their feet. "Jon..." Sansa whispers as they approach, a new realization beginning to dawn upon her. It's Bran there waiting for them, as well as Samwell Tarly, Jon's closest friend. 

"You said you would not marry again unless it was your choice..." Jon begins softly, turning her to face him as they stand there before Sam, with Arya just behind them. "Let me be your choice." He reaches out a hand, tenderly stroking her cheek, skin chilled from the cold winter air. "Marry me, Sansa." She's begun to cry before he's even finished speaking, nodding her head a moment before she throws her arms around him. Now she knows that the truth of Jon's birth has been made evident to both Arya and Sam and he's brought her two siblings down to witness this most important of moments. 

So it is right there beneath the heart tree, she and Jon marry. 

When they return inside half an hour later, he joins her in her rooms, undressing her slowly in the darkness of her room. While they had been gone, someone has stoked the fire in the hearth and Sansa reminds herself to thank Brienne for being a part of this night as well. He tugs her gently down into the bed and his hands wander over her- from her breasts to her hips, across her swelling belly and down to her thighs. He presses kisses against every inch of her skin, lighting a fire with every touch of his lips. 

Their first night together as husband and wife is sweet and slow, gentle loving that brings her to tears when it's over. Her heart has never been more full. "Sleep well, wife," he murmurs as he leans over her one last time, brushing his lips across hers for a final good night kiss. "I love you," his voice ghosts across her skin before he pulls her into his arms and burrows them beneath the furs upon her bed. "Good night." His whisper is against her ear as she settles back against him, his touch warm and safe. 

"Good night," she whispers back before she closes her eyes and drifts off, her last waking thought of how she had thought she'd never feel true happiness again. Now, she felt so much joy she thought she might truly burst. Never was there a luckier woman in all of Westeros. 


	90. Visible Pregnancy 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: rhaegal & sansa share a moment together, surprising a few people.

She walks silently among the trees, lost in thought as she makes her way through the godswood. Her mind is a whirlwind of thoughts- starting with her realization that within her she carried a life. A life she and Jon created that night before he left for Dragonstone some weeks ago. There is more than just that on her mind; another war looms just ahead of them, a war which she wishes they did not have to take part in. In truth, Daenerys Targaryen was the last person she thought should take the throne. Even Cersei would be better than her. But there was no escaping what was to come now. 

A sigh escapes her as she passes the last line of trees, stepping out into the open field that stands between Winterfell and the forest. Overhead, she hears a dragon screech and at once her eyes are on the sky, watching as the single dragon circles over where she stands. It is Rhaegal, the smaller of the two remaining dragons, the one named for Jon's true father and the very one he rode into battle against the Night King. She knows she should feel fear from the creature, but even as it comes closer and closer to the ground, she feels no fear at all. 

Rhaegal touches down upon the snowy land just ahead of her a moment later, his great wings folding in as his golden eyes fall upon her. She sucks in a breath, heart racing as she takes a tentative step closer to the dragon, well aware that at any moment the creature could burn her into ash. And yet... Somehow she knows he won't hurt her. Somehow she knows that Rhaegal trusts her. That is what propels her forward the last few feet, until she is standing right there in front of him, so close that she can touch. With a shaking hand, she reaches out, slowly extending her arm until her palm is flat against the dragon's scales, the feel of them beneath her skin unlike anything she's ever felt before. Sansa doesn't even realize she's been holding her breath until she releases it when Rhaegal makes a soft sound, something like the purr of a cat, though with a deep rumble that reverberates in her bones. "You are not so bad, perhaps," she whispers as she strokes the place between his eyes, the dragon leaning into her touch like he understood the words that she spoke. "I never thought I would be petting a dragon," she chuckles as Rhaegal grumbles low in his chest, a sound that lacks any kind of aggression at all. For once, she feels utterly safe; now she can understand why Daenerys fears nothing at all, for what was there to fear when one had a dragon at your side? And she had two. 

It's then that the dragon moves his great head from beneath her touch, surprising her even more when he nudges gently at her body with his snout. That's when she realizes what he's doing, what he's saying. Rhaegal knows she's pregnant, and somehow, someway, the dragon knows the child within her belongs to his rider. The dragon nuzzles at her belly, his breath warm through her many layers of clothing and she can't help but to smile as she touches his scales yet again. "Will you protect him?" Sansa asks of the dragon, not knowing if she meant Jon or the child within her, perhaps she even meant both. There was no doubt in her mind, even so early, that it was a boy growing inside of her. A new white wolf to follow in his father's footsteps, a young white wolf named Robb Stark that would someday be called King in the North. "Will you keep him safe for me?" The dragon raises its head back to face her, those same eyes staring back at her as if he understood her perfectly. She smiles, nodding, before the dragon backs up and takes flight, soaring higher and higher into the sky until he's gone, off towards the east to perhaps find his brother. 

When she returns to Winterfell, she finds Jon in the courtyard, deep in conversation with a few of his men, perhaps speaking over battle plans for the war they ride out for tomorrow morning. The moment he sees her, he's excusing himself from the conversation and comes striding across the yard to join her as she walks back towards the castle. "I thought I'd have to send a search party out for you," he comments as they walk up the stone steps and through the double doors into the main hall. "I saw Rhaegal flying overhead, did he bother you?" He knows little of this dragon yet, but he trusts the creature, as strange as it was. 

Sansa smiles, shaking her head as she loops her arm through his. "The complete opposite, rather," she says as they turn the corner, making their way down the hall towards her own rooms. "He promised me that he would take care of you when you go to war," she giggles when Jon eyes her skeptically, though surprise skirts across his features. "Don't ask me how I know, I just do," she pushes open the door to her rooms, allowing him to slip inside first, following after him and closing the door behind her. 

They have just one night left together and they aren't going to let it go to waste. 


	91. Visible Pregnancy 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jaime lannister discovers the identity of sansa's baby.

“My lady, my lord,” it is Lord Royce at the door, stepping in when Sansa has called for him to enter just moments after knocking. They sit within her solar- once Jon’s- with him sitting on the edge of the desk, she behind it in the chair. “A rider… At the gate.” He says when he’s risen up from his bow, approaching the desk with his ever weary eyes. “He says he is Jaime Lannister.” At once, Jon is on his feet and he looks to her with surprise.

“Bring him to the great hall,” Sansa rules as she rises to her feet, looking from Jon to Lord Royce, who nods as he turns to do her bidding. “But Lord Royce… Inform no one else.” She calls as his hand falls upon the door. The man turns back to look at her and gives a single nod, his loyalty always to her, always. “Jaime Lannister here?” She asks when they are alone once more, her own surprise taking root.

“Let us hear what he has to say,” Jon says, offering her his arm to take, drawing her from the room and out into the hall. It is all they can do, after all.

[ x x x ]

Jaime Lannister is surprised by the Stark girl’s charm and wit, her presence lighting up a room almost at once. Though her anger is just as quick and she can be fear inspiring even in the bravest of knights. He has lived through a private audience with both her and the surviving Stark children. He has lived through a trial held by Daenerys Targaryen. He’s even lived through a moment with Bran Stark, the boy, now grown to a man, he had once pushed out a window.

More than anything else though, Jaime is surprised by Sansa Stark’s pregnancy.

A girl unmarried, a girl abused by every man that had ever touched her, he is shocked to see she had conceived a babe outside of wedlock. He’s surprised to even think a girl such as herself would ever lay with a man again, though he supposes she deserves happiness even if society thought it improper. And truthfully… Jaime had his suspicions on the father. How could he not, when he himself had looked at his own sister the same way Jon Snow looked at her? How could he not, when he himself witnessed the tender touches between Jon and Sansa when they thought themselves to be alone… Or when he saw them strolling towards the godswood on his third morning in Winterfell, looking quite like a young married couple, more than two half siblings.

It’s day four since his arrival and he’s making his way down towards the yard where the Northern army drills, his mind focused instead upon the woman soldier that never stood far from Sansa Stark. Jaime had thought of Brienne of Tarth quite often and to see her there in Winterfell had warmed his heart considerably. But as he turned a corner, it was the young Lady of Winterfell he bumped into, nearly knocking her to the ground. “Lady Stark! My apologies! Are you alright?” Jaime asks, concern spreading through him as he put a hand to her arm to steady her. The last thing he wanted to do was bring her harm nor the child she carried within her.

But to his relief, Sansa Stark smiled, nodding her head. “I am fine, all is well. Tell me, Ser Jaime, where you are rushing off to so early in the morning?” She was still growing accustomed to his presence in Winterfell- this man, brother and lover to one of her greatest enemies, had come all the way North to pledge himself to her and their cause. Despite the love he once had for Cersei, he had come North to serve her and House Stark. Though many had advised her against trusting Jaime Lannister, she had accepted him into the ranks of the Northern army, and had entrusted Brienne to keep watch over him. A task she knew her sworn shield enjoyed far more than she would ever let on.

“To the yard, to join the training soliders. I thought I might offer my services in any way I can, though I am not the swordsman I once was,” he holds up his golden arm, indicating that it was the reason behind his lack of skill with his sword. Jaime then offers her his other arm to take, which she does, and the Lady of Winterfell falls into step beside him.

“We are lucky to have you, all the same. Your wisdom will be advantageous to our army.” Sansa replies, turning her head to smile upon him as they walk down the hall, towards the staircase that would take them down to the main floor. “Brienne holds your skill in high esteem and therefore, I do as well.” It was true was she had said the day of his trial- that she trusted Brienne with her very life and thus would trust him with it as well.

“She flatters me, in truth. I would wager to say that she would have beat me in any fight, any day. With or without this arm.” He chuckled, thinking back to those first days of meeting Brienne of Tarth, a woman soldier was quite unheard of, let alone one with the skill to outmatch any man. “You are lucky to have her at your side.”

“I am.” Sansa agrees softly, raising her skirts as they begin to descend the stairs towards the main corridor.

“Without fear of offending you my lady, might I ask you a question?” Sansa glances his way, surprise arching a brow, though she gives a nod a moment later. “I only wonder… As it is most unseemly to conceive a child outside of the marriage bed, I wondered what man could be so tempting to a noble lady such as yourself?”

Sansa blinks, tilting her head before she lets out a soft chuckle. “A brave man,” she says without hesitation, rosy lips still yet curving with a smile. “A most noble knight that saved me when I thought all was lost.” Her sapphire eyes gleam as she thinks of the man and at once, Jaime knows he’s seen this look upon her face before… When he’s seen her with Jon Snow. “Ah, there is Jon,” as if their conversation as conjured him up, Jon Snow stands just outside the double doors that lead into the great hall, conversing with a man in Stark livery. “If you will excuse me, Ser Jaime,” Sansa shoots him a smile before she slips free from his arm, sweeping down the hall towards where Jon stands. Jaime watches as Jon turns towards her, his typically stoic features softening as she comes closer. The man he was speaking to is forgotten as she approaches and Jaime can’t help but to chuckle as he steps through the doors and out into the cold, morning air.

It was as he thought then… Jon Snow was indeed the father of Sansa Stark’s babe. 


	92. Visible Pregnancy 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: dany realizes who the father of sansa's baby is.   
a new pov of chapter 90.

As she strolls through the courtyard, she notices Rhaegal circling overhead. 

Daenerys stops in her walk, having been on her way to where her children usually stayed, just on the outskirts of Winterfell. She turns around then, following along in the direction of where Rhaegal flew, surprised to see him touching down on the ground quite a distance away. She walks quickly and through the cover of the trees, she can see that Rhaegal is not alone where he's landed. No, in fact, the first thing that she sees is the vivid red hair peaking through the trees. It's Sansa Stark standing there, facing her dragon without an ounce of fear on her features, truly a surprising sight to behold. And then there is Jon at her side, stepping out from beside her to reach for Rhaegal- for _her_ dragon. 

They approach him as if he belongs to them, as if Rhaegal is not her own child, born from the funeral pyre of her own dead husband. She can still recall the feel of his warm scales against her belly. A shudder races through her as she watches Sansa reach out, her glove removed as she places her palm against Rhaegal's head. Her dragon is purring, a sound Daenerys rarely even hears herself, and she's full of white hot rage yet again. For a moment, she thinks about showing herself to them, in fact she thinks about taking her dragons from this place entirely. But she can't walk away, not yet. 

And then... Something else entirely happens. 

She watches in silence as Rhaegal leans down his massive head, his snout nuzzling against Sansa's belly. Anger curls in her own belly and it leaves her barely breathing; Daenerys clenches her fists at her sides as Jon laughs, his own hand patting at the dragon before them, his snout still yet resting against the Stark girl's belly. It cannot be, Daenerys thinks as she sags against the tree, it just cannot be. She watches as Jon's hand pulls from Rhaegal and instead slips into place against Sansa's belly, his face full of pride and joy. Though she could not believe it, Daenerys knows what this scene before her means. And now she understands the words Sansa had spoken to her only a few days before... _The child isn't a bastard._ Jon had fathered her babe, clearly before he had even sailed for Dragonstone so many weeks ago. 

It's a moment later that Rhaegal takes off and Sansa is laughing as she points up at him, her and Jon's hands still yet clasped across her belly. They speak words she cannot hear then and turn as if they mean to walk towards where Daenerys stands. She remains frozen for only a moment, until her anger begins to thaw her out, and she turns on the spot and makes her way back towards Winterfell. Now she's beginning to understand- Jon never loved her, never cared about her at all. He had done this all for her, for that redheaded woman he was supposed to call sister. He had done it for her armies and her dragons and for nothing else. It had not been for her or his love for her. Daenerys feels no sorrow, only anger. 

And they will know it. 


	93. Just stay with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: sansa seduces jon the night before he's to leave for king's landing to fight beside dany for the iron throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slightly nsfw. slightly.

When she raised her hand to knock on his chamber door, she hesitated.

She knew there weren't many ways that she could save Jon, that she could protect him, but perhaps this way... Perhaps this way she could. And Sansa would be lying if she said she didn't want this too. That thought alone was enough to give her the courage to knock, to stand there while she waited for him to open the door. She supposed it was late, he might not even hear her knocking if he slept already.

_Knock, knock._

Jon hadn't expected to hear a knock on the door so late into the night. He couldn't sleep and he supposed it would be another sleepless night for him, kept awake by the endless fight he fought against the world. Every moment, he felt burdened by his role as Daenerys' lover- if you could even call him that. Now that he knew the truth of his parentage, he couldn't bring himself to lay with her again, he couldn't even kiss her without feeling sick. He had never wanted to be with her in the beginning, but he had forced himself to placate her, hoping it would help her find the right path, especially when it came to the North. He had hoped that by siding with her and making her feel like he was hers, she would protect the family he loved so dearly. But he had been wrong. So very, very wrong.

And so when someone knocks on his door so late at night, he can't help but to feel a tremor of fear- of frustration- rush through him. Daenerys, he thought as he rose from where he sat before the fire, it must be her. But when he opened the door, it was not the silver-haired Targaryen queen he saw. "Sansa..." His stomach turned, but not with apprehension, rather relief, and he felt warmth rush through his entire being. How could it be that she undid him with even just a single look?

Sansa watched as relief spread across his features, softening his eyes and his mouth as he stepped aside to let her in. He closed the door behind her and they came to stand at the center of the room, warm and bright by the still roaring fire. "I'd apologize for waking you, but it looks like you've not touched your bed in days." It's still tightly made, Agatha's work, the old crone who had always tut tutted at her and Jon's closeness. She took only a moment to wonder if his bed remained tidy because he'd been sleeping in her chambers. But she pushed such thoughts away as she focused on his face, tired and drawn, as if he'd not had a good night's rest in days. Only two days before he had fought a battle against the dead themselves and yet he still did not sleep. "I am sorry for disturbing you, though, I only wanted to check on you."

Jon can't take his eyes off of her; she's so beautiful there in the firelight, her red hair unbound from it's usual braids, a stark contrast to her black gown. "You never disturb me," he took a step closer to her, his heart warming when she smiled upon him, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. "But you should be sleeping," he admonished, knowing she had been working tirelessly to provide for all of the North, including stitching up the injured soldiers and even prepping Theon for his burial. She had proven herself yet again to be the true Lady of Winterfell, the only one deserving of the title queen.

"I couldn't," she replied, taking a step towards him, closing the gap between them. Her heart was pounding so hard within her chest that she was certain Jon could have heard it beat. She wished she'd had the thought of drinking wine, it would have calmed her nerves. "Jon... I..." She found that there were no words she could say and so she decided that there was no need. This would go one of two ways and there was no way of knowing until she tried.

And so she kissed him.

She kissed him and it only took a single moment for him to yield. Sansa felt his arms come around her as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing hers as he pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together as if they were matching puzzle pieces. A moment later, Jon drew back from her, looking into her eyes as if to ask her is this really alright? Their gazes never wavered, not for several long moments, and Sansa could only give a single nod. It was then that Jon was kissing her, with such fervor that he swept her off her feet. She could feel his hands tracing the outline of her body, one snaking around to press into the small of her back, the other making its way up and into her long red hair. "Sansa," he gasped when he drew back again, this time merely to catch his breath, and his other hand slid into place against her cheek, leaving her back cold without his touch.

They had been teetering on this moment for far too long. He could recall every sinful, lust driven thought he'd had of her, never acting upon it for obvious reasons. But then Sam had told him the truth of who his parents had been and it had changed everything. If only he'd known before leaving for Dragonstone. Now, he was tangled up with the damned mother of dragons and even one misstep could lead to the destruction of everything he loved. And damn near everything was there in his arms right then. "Sansa, we don't..." He was thinking of her and her tainted past- this couldn't be easy for her.

"Stop talking." She said with a shake of her head, leaning in to capture his mouth with his. "For just one night... Don't think... Don't talk... Just be with me." Jon stared at her for just a moment longer before he gave a nod, wondering how a moment like this could make so much sense. This time their kiss was deeper, stronger, a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs and the strength from her knees. But he was there to keep her upright, his hands securely on either side of her hips as his tongue met hers once again.

It could have been several minutes or lifetimes before Jon could take no more and so he drew her towards his bed, seating himself down on the edge with her between his knees. "Turn around," he rasped, watching as she did as he bid, pulling her hair over a shoulder and looking at him over said shoulder in the most seductive of ways. Did she even know what she did to him? Jon took the next few moments to slowly unlace the back of her gown, giving her ample opportunity to stop him if she wished. But she made no movement until he had finished and her gown had fallen to the floor at her feet. It was only then that she turned, clad only in her shift, that she turned around to face him. With her own hands, she helped him from his shirt and it joined her gown on the floor. She then pulled her shift over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her to stand there naked before him. Jon sucked in a breath, his hand reaching out to clasp her breast, kneading her petal soft skin with a gentle touch. It was her turn to catch her breath, head tilted back as his hand moved to her other breast, fingertips grazng her skin, leaving fire in their wake.

Her hands were moving then, reaching for the laces of his breeches which came undone beneath her nimble fingers and only then was he exposed to her. Sansa ran her hand along the length of him, the feel of him shuddering beneath her touch like nothing she had ever felt before. She raised her gaze to meet his and it was almost like he could read her mind, for he pushed himself further back onto the bed, giving her the space to straddle his pelvis, her body just barely touching his. His mouth clamped down over hers as she slid him into her, a rush of pleasure running its course through her body. Jon was moving in time with her, his hands on her hips as he thrust into her, his head throw back as her name left his lips in the sound of a moan.

Over and over again he met her every movement until he was certain he could take it no more. And so it was then that he moved a hand to her back and turned them both over so he leaned over her, his mouth on hers as she arched her back against him. "Jon!" Her gasping of his name was unlike anything he'd ever heard before. He could feel her nails clawing their way down his back as she moaned her pleasure, every other breath coming in a gasp as Jon hit the perfect spot. It wasn't much longer before he knew it was over and he spilled into her with a long groan, falling into place on the bed beside her.

They lay side by side a while longer, talking softly as the fire in the hearth became smaller and smaller, until it was just burning embers. "I should go..." She said softly, though she was hesitant to unwrap herself from his warm embrace. Jon hugged her closer, burying his face into her sweet smelling hair.

"Stay," he encouraged, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. "Just stay with me." He knew it was improper, but he suddenly could not imagine his bed without her in it. And so she smiled in the darkness and nodded, snuggling in closer to his warm, naked frame. There she would stay awake long after he'd finally drifted off, happy just to know he finally slept soundly. Happy knowing she had brought him peace of mind, if only for a night. In the morning he would wake and go to war yet again, but she could only hope it would be for the last time.

Closing her eyes, she drifted off to sleep there in his arms, happier than she had been since she'd left home the very first time. 


	94. A surprise return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: post s8, jon returns to sansa at winterfell, a surprise thanks to shae & davos.

He's more nervous than he's ever been in all of his life. 

He stands outside her chamber door, hand raised as if he means to knock, but something is holding him back. He wonders if he deserves to be here, to see her, to speak to her. Will she even want to see him? Jon supposes he deserves to hear her angry words or feel her wild punches, if she so desires. And yet... Even if she rages against him, he wants to see her. If nothing else, he wants to see her and drink her in. 

And so he knocks.

Inside her rooms, Sansa is sitting on her bed, though she's fully dressed. It's just after the evening meal and she's tired beyond measure, though her mind is a whirlwind of everything she was trying to take care of. Ensuring her people were warm and well fed for the rest of winter, not to mention the threat of illness and death as the cold really settled upon them. And more than anything... She can't stop thinking of Jon. 

He's been gone three months now, banished to Castle Black, though she still calls it unfair. She has written to Bran on such a thing twice, though letters are slow to come and go with the winter storms that roll through every other day or so. She's mere moments from pardoning him herself, as is her right as sovereign of the North, where Jon now resides. Part of her wonders if that was Bran's plan all along, in truth, and if a letter doesn't arrive soon she swears she'll do it on her own. 

When she hears the knock to her door, she sighs, supposing it's Shae come to help her change for the evening. Shae had returned to her mere weeks after her coronation, having escaped King's Landing the day of Joffrey's wedding, though Sansa had always assumed her friend to be dead. But she had arrived on her doorstep and sworn herself to her again and Sansa had never been so happy to have help dressing that very next morning. "Come in," she calls as she rises from her bed, turning away from the door as it opens, picking up a goblet of wine from her table as she speaks to who she believes is her trusted friend. "Shae, you will brush my hair, won't you?" When Shae doesn't reply, Sansa turns, goblet raised to her lips as if she means to take a sip. 

Instead, the goblet tumbles to the floor, spilling red wine across the floorboards.

She can't breathe. She doesn't dare draw a breath, lest he disappear from her sight completely. Jon closes the door behind him as he steps into her room, his heart racing as their eyes meet. "Sansa..." Her name is a greeting upon his lips and she staggers, tears welling in her eyes as he rushes towards her. The intensity of his embraces sweeps her off of her feet and it's all she can do not to break down in sobs as she sinks into his arms, his body warm against hers. 

Jon holds onto her for dear life- he can't imagine letting her go for anything at all. In truth, this was not the reunion he expected, but he won't complain. She's in his arms for what could be minutes or even days and she pulls back only to ask one single question. "But how?" Tears are streaking her cheeks and Jon brushes them away with a swipe of his thumb, before he tucks a stray strand of red hair from her forehead. 

"Shae," he says with a grin, tipping his forehead down to meet hers. "And Davos." Both had been instrumental in his return to Winterfell. Davos had orchestrated his arrival and Shae had ensured he would have a private audience with her. Though Jon did not know Shae, he could tell the woman cared deeply for Sansa and he was glad she had someone there who loved her well. Though she was without family, Sansa was not without those who loved her, that much Jon was certain of. "I'm sorry for surprising you this way... I wasn't sure you would see me." She laughs, though it sounds more like a sob, and she buries her face into his shoulder as his arms come around her once again. 

And that was how they would stay, wrapped in each other's arms, likely to never let go again.


	95. Who did this to you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: "who did this to you?" dialogue prompt list, modern au setting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: for domestic abuse mentions.

All she wants to do is get home. 

It's late into the night- well past midnight as she comes tiptoing down the street, the streetlights her only guide. She's been walking for what feels like hours- maybe it has been, she's lost track of the time. Her feet ache, but not as much as her cheek nor her pride. Her heart too, aches, and it brings tears to her eyes. 

She's alone out here, far from her home in Winterfell. It's been a year since she's moved down South, following after Robb who had come here the year before. But Robb had died six months earlier, taken by someone that made the choice to drive home from the pub drunk. Normally, she would have spent a night like this with Margaery, but Margaery hasn't wanted to go out since Robb died. Sansa can't blame her. Being with Margaery left her to fend for herself most nights, joining up with other girls and guys on the weekends, other friends she knew from university. 

That was how she met Joffrey and, in truth, how she ended up where she was right then.

Sansa knows she should have known better- Joffrey had a reputation that preceeded him and not in the best of ways. But he had always been so sweet, so gentle with her... She could only assume the rumors were simply that. It wasn't until a month after the first night she spent the night at his place that he raised a hand to her. There was no contact, but there had been intent. She had stormed out that night and now, in this moment, she wishes with all of her might that she hadn't gone back.

But she had... She had. 

Tonight, he had accused her of cheating. Drunk and angry, he cornered her when they came home from the club, shouting at her about a man she couldn't even remember. It wasn't the first time he struck her, nor the first time she felt true fear from him. When the second blow connected, she managed to get away and stumbled from the apartment, leaving her keys and phone behind. 

And so that was how she found herself walking the lonely, dark streets of London. It's a Friday night and she can hear the bass of the music in the bar she walks by. For a moment, she contemplates going inside, but she touches her bruising cheek and knows better. As she turns to continue on, the bell on the door dings and out comes two men, their conversation falling silent as they catch sight of her standing there on the sidewalk. It takes only a split second for Sansa to recognize the first man, though it's been some time since they've last spoken. 

For what feels like an eternity, Jon cannot move. He's absolutely frozen there, the sight of Sansa standing in the flickering streetlight catching him entirely off guard. Her long red hair is a mess and she's been crying, Jon notes as his eyes sweep her up and down. That's when he notices the swelling of her cheek, the faint bruising that's already begun to stain her ivory skin. "Sam... Go on." Jon says to his friend who looks torn between walking away and staying, but he finally gives a nod and grunts a goodbye. "Sansa..." Her name is soft upon his lips the moment Sam is out of earshot, his hand outstretched as if he means to brush his fingertips across her skin. "Who did this to you?" He growls, white hot anger coursing through his veins, his heart's pace increasing tenfold as he stands there before her. He can see the fear in her eyes, the pain in her body; he knows there's bruises he can't see. 

Of all the people to find her like this, Sansa can't believe it's Jon. 

Robb's best friend, they've not spoken since a few months after his death. Sometimes they saw each other in the halls of the university, sometimes out at the same pub, but they didn't speak... Not anymore. It was just too painful of a reminder of the person they had lost. But Jon... Jon had been an ever constant presence in her life since they were kids. He had spent countless nights at the Stark house, so often that he was often mistaken for just another of their brood. Once, she had giggled with Jeyne about how cute he was. Even Margaery had commented on Jon's good looks. But seeing his dark eyes reminded her of Robb, seeing him reminded her of the pain of losing her big brother. "Sansa!" Jon's voice pulls her from her thoughts and she realizes only then that tears have begun to trail her cheeks. "Tell me... Who did this to you?" His voice is soft as his fingertips gently graze the hot, bruised skin of her cheek. 

"Joffrey." She replies, so quietly Jon can't be certain she's said anything at all. Joffrey Baratheon, rumored to be a no good asshole, Jon has learned in this moment that the rumors are true. This kid has put his hands on his best friend's younger sister and Jon knows he can't let that go. Besides... He's reminded of the warm feeling he feels when she's around, he's reminded of how much he's missed her in the months since Robb died. Once, they had spent countless hours together, now they were like strangers. 

"Let me walk you home," Jon murmurs, softening as he draws his hand from her cheek. She gives him a single nod before he slings his arm around her hips and draws her in, offering her the protective feeling her boyfriend should have been. It's all he can do to contain his anger as they walk the rest of the way to her apartment complex. They talk quietly as they walk, Sansa explaining to him the fight that led to this. When Jon asks her if she's been hit before, she doesn't reply. "I'll call you tomorrow," Jon promises at her door and she gives him a small smile before she nods. He can't say what compels him to do so, but he leans in so he might press a quick kiss to her forehead. 

When she's free from his touch, she feels cold. 

[ x x x ]

She wakes to her phone ringing.

"Hello?" Her voice is groggy and she's rubbing her eyes as she shifts up onto an elbow.

"I didn't mean to wake you..." Jon says by way of apology. He remembers that like him, she's an early riser, so he thought she would be awake by now. "I only wanted to see how you were..." He doesn't mention the bruising on his own knuckles, she doesn't need to know what he's done. 

"I'm alright," she says softly, cradling the phone against her ear, drawing her knees to her chest. "Will you... Will you come by?" She asks, softer still, her free hand absently stroking the fur cover she's slept under for years now. For a moment, there's only silence on the other line, but then she hears his soft little inhale and she knows him so well that she knows he's closed his eyes in thought. 

Finally, he speaks. 

"I'm on my way." 


	96. The North needs an heir.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: sansa seduces jon to provide him an heir to the north.

When his door creaks open in the dead of night, Jon already knows it's Sansa. 

He knows the sound of her footsteps better than anyone else's, he knows the soft catch of her breath. "Can't sleep?" He asks when she approaches the side of his bed, Ghost stirring on the floor at her feet. Despite the darkness, he sees the shake of her head and a small smile curves on his lips. "Come on, then." He raises the blankets enough so she might climb into bed beside him. She slides into place against him, though she does not turn away as she normally would have, but rather faces him in the darkness of his room, her blue eyes gleaming in the dying light from the hearth. There's a look upon her face he's seen before, one they've yet to speak of, one that tells him everything he's wanted to know. "Sansa..." Her name is quiet on his lips and he's cut off before he can say another word. Her kiss is hungry, full of unspoken words, but proof of what they know they both feel. "Sansa!" He speaks stronger this time and once again he finds himself staring into her clear blue eyes. 

"A king needs an heir," is all she says before she leans in again, capturing his mouth with hers. Jon shudders, the sinful feeling of lust rushing through him as he wraps one arm around her, drawing her lithe frame closer still. He's to leave for Dragonstone in the morning, to set sail for a place he might not come home from and he knows she doesn't want him to go. She said so herself that very morning. He returns her kiss with as much passion as he can muster, well aware that what they do is against nature, but it feels more right than anything else ever had. His hand slides into her hair as their tongues meet, his other palm pressed against the small of her back. 

Their kissing intensifies and it isn't until he feels her hand against his hardened manhood that Jon stops, drawing back yet again. "We don't have to do this," he whispers, his hand slipping from her hair to cup her cheek into his palm. Sansa's smile is a glimmer in the darkness and suddenly she's on the move, pushing him over to lay on his back as she climbs over him, straddling his hips, knees on either side of him. Such an action is answer enough for him and so Jon pulls her down, his mouth finding hers before another moment can pass. 

She feels his hands upon her body, covering every inch of her that he can; it takes only a few moments for him to find the edge of her nightgown and pull it up over her head. To his surprise, she's wearing nothing underneath and he groans against her mouth as a hand closes around a bare breast. "I want to bear your son," she whispers when he lets her mouth go for long enough and rather than kissing him again, she trails her lips down his jaw towards his throat. "I don't care if it's wrong." Her voice is warm against his skin and Jon traces his fingertips along the curve of her spine. 

But, was love really ever wrong? Jon thinks if there is love, it can never be wrong, certainly not in a time of war and violence. Not when they have suffered in so many ways until finding each other. And so... Even if no one else understands, even if they try to keep them apart, Jon knows he will remain beside her. He wants this as much as she does. 

That thought alone is enough to get him moving again; in one single movement, he's rolled them over so instead he is above her and she lays against his pillow. It is her hands that tug his breeches down, exposing him to her and Jon feels his breath catch the moment he's in her grasp. "I love you," he whispers and beneath him, she smiles, nodding as if she's known this all along. He presses his hand against her inner thigh, relishing in the feel of her soft, warm skin against his palm. Further and further his hand slides and she's writhing beneath his touch as his fingers brush against her most sensitive of places. It's a moment later that he's sliding into her and she makes a sound that he very much would like to hear again. 

Every thrust of his is met with an arching of her back or the movement of her hips; her every cry grows louder and he knows he should shush her, for fear of being overheard, but part of him wants the world to know. He wants little else but to parade her around on his arm, his beautiful queen, sister or not. "Sansa!" Her name falls from his lips as she arches against him, their bodies tight together, her hands clawing their way down his back. In all of his life, he's never felt something as strong nor as true as he felt right then, right there with her. And when he feels himself at the edge, he presses tight against her so he can spill his seed inside of her like a man might do his wife. Spent from his deed, Jon pulls free from her and falls into place beside her, once again taking her into his arms beneath the blankets on his bed. 

He closes his eyes and sleeps, wishing with all of his heart that this moment never had to end. But when he woke in the morning, it was to dress, knowing he had to leave her to do his duty as King in the North. 

And then, several weeks later, Sansa wakes up to a letter from Jon telling her he's coming home. She also wakes up ill. 

She's smiling when she wipes her mouth clean, Jon's letter still clutched tightly in her hand. 


	97. The QitN and her Wildling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: the qitn has a wildling lover.

"A visitor, your grace." 

Her attendant backs from the room a moment later, perhaps one of the only people in the world she trusted with the secret of who had come to her. The man bows low to his queen, who still seated behind her desk raises her gaze, surprised at the sight of the man that rises to face her. "Jon," her voice is soft, a smile finding its way to her lips as she gets to her feet. The man's dark eyes are shining as he takes a single step closer towards the queen. It only takes a moment for her to jump to her feet, sweeping around the table and surging towards him. "You're really here!" She whispers as she flings her arms around him, burying her face into the warm crook of his neck. 

"I couldn't stay away, my sweet," he murmurs, breathing in the rose water she had washed in that morning. His hands are tracing the length of her body and shivers race her spine as his grip tightens at her hips. "I've missed you, Sansa." She tilts her head back, his mouth capturing hers with a fiery kiss that weakens her knees. Sansa takes hold of his leather jerkin as one hand slides into her hair, the other pressed tight against the small of her back. His kiss intensifies and weeks of being without him has only ignited her passion for him. Her tongue meets his, lips parting to allow him entrance to her mouth and again she's struck with chills that make her ache below. 

He's pushing her backwards then and she feels her hips press against the edge of the table she had only just been sitting at. "Jon!" His name is a gasp on her lips as he begins pushing up her heavy black skirts and her own hands begin fumbling with the laces on his breeches. She feels his hands on her waist, hefting her up onto the table top, skirts gathered up all around her; he's pulling her smallclothes down as she freed him from the confines of his bottoms and a moment later he's inside her. He feels her anchoring her legs around his hips, one hand gripping his shoulder as she leans backward, her back arched against his every thrust. 

When they've finished, Jon leans over her and kisses her deeply, his hands gripping the soft, pale skin of her thighs. "It is safe to say you have missed me too," he teases when he draws back, finally releasing her long enough so she may slide from the table top, skirts rumpled as they tumble back to the ground. "You look as if you've been misbehaving." His good natured vocals leave her chuckling as she looks down at her wrinkled skirts and back up to his face. He wishes he could take her from this place, away from the loveless political marriage she'd been forced into some months ago. But a queen could not marry as she pleased, Sansa herself had told him that when the engagement had been announced. Back then, he had thought he might die knowing she lived so unhappily, but she had assured him all was well. _As long as we're together..._ She had whispered in his ear that last night they spent together before she married, a tangle of limbs and sheets for what should have been the last time. 

But he continued to come, continuing both his relationship with the queen and peace with the country she ruled. Once, the free folk and the North had lived apart, not quite enemies but not quite allies. However, things changed when their young queen, Sansa Stark ascended to the throne just a year before. They had met as children, when she and her brothers had played just inside the wall, while their father the King had walked atop it with the old King-beyond-the-wall. Sansa had wandered through an open gate and out beyond the wall, coming lost in the woods that bordered the free folk's camp. It had been Jon who found the crying princess and led her home, where her father rewarded him greatly for his good deed. 

He could still recall the moment his eyes had fallen on her, so small and shaking in her torn silk gown. Even at the tender age of ten, he'd felt the grasping of fate, as if every moment of his young life had led him right there. Despite the years that passed, he'd not forgotten the princess he'd rescued, with eyes the color of a sapphire. He had heard the rumors of where like had taken her- King's Landing where her father was stripped of his title and beheaded for treason; where she was abused by the Lannister's and married to an imp. Accused of poisoning the Lannister King, she to the Riverlands and into the Vale with a man who sold her to her family's greatest enemy under the guise of another marriage. Jon can't hardly think about that anymore because he knows what she suffered there and even to this day, he seethes with fury over it.

Of course, all of those men are dead and buried, no longer able to bring her harm. Jon had seen to that personally. Against all odds, she had escaped her prison under Ramsay Bolton and fled for the wall, where she had heard rumors of the new King-beyond-the-wall was a man named Jon. She had turned up at his camp in a gray cloak, her horse dying beneath her just as the red woman had said she would. From there, Jon had gone to war for her, reclaiming Winterfell in her name with the help of his free folk brotheren. 

And then she was crowned queen, as she deserved to be. 

"Jon..." Her voice tugs him from his thoughts and he reaches for her, embracing her as he'd done countless times. "I have something to tell you," she whispers, her voice muffled against his chest; he feels her heave a sigh before she draws back, peering into his dark eyes as her lips begin to smile. "I'm with child." He blinks, tilting his head as he takes in what she's just said to him, the words not making sense at first. But then he understands when she laughs and says: "It's yours." 


	98. Sansa Illness 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: another sansa illness, jon loses his mind request.

It was two months after her coronation that Sansa woke and knew what she had to do.

Rising up from her bed, she was not surprised to find Shae had already lit the fire and set out her warm, fur-lined robe. Pulling it on over her nightgown, Sansa crossed the room to look out her window, the darkness of early morning broken only by the pink streaks of light upon the horizon. “Your grace?” She turned, smiling faintly as she faced the woman that had been her only friend in King’s Landing, one of the only people she could trust with her every secret, with her very life. “It’s early,” though they’ve been apart many years, Shae still yet knows her mistress’ routines and this is early for her to rise.

“It is,” Sansa says with a nod, before turning back around to face the window, looking out into the courtyard below. “Prepare my warmest clothes, will you?” Shae arched a brow, blinking in surprise, but nods when the young woman turned back around to face her. “I have somewhere I must go,” her tone is almost mischievous, a tone Shae had not heard from her save but one or two times in King’s Landing. When Shae nodded and backed out of the room to do as she was bid, Sansa can’t help but to smile.

Today, she would fetch Jon home, no matter what he said.

[ x x x ]

When Jon woke, it was to a raging winter storm out his window.

His days at Castle Black had been moving painfully slow, so slow in fact he thought time had stopped entirely. He missed her, so much so that it hurt, and most days he didn’t even want to leave his bed. But, he supposed he had a new role in life and he had traded his needs and his wants for her safety. If a life without her meant her survival, he would live alone the rest of his days. He would survive on the memory of her and the snippets of gossip that flowed along to the wall from Winterfell.

The storm outside told him that there would be little to do and so he shivered into his clothes and threw kindling into the hearth, watching as the old embers sprung back to life. Awakened by Jon’s movements, Ghost rose up from where he’d slept on the floor beside the bed to instead sit at his side before the fire, head cocked as if he were listening to the howls of the wind outside. Jon stood before the hearth for several long minutes, warming himself as he mentally prepared himself to dress to go outside. Storm or no storm, he would still have to see to his men and ensure all was well, especially the Free Folk that were not all within the warm walls of the castle.

Suddenly at his feet, Ghost rumbled.

“What is it boy?” Jon asked, reaching down to touch the wolf’s remaining ear in a comforting sort of rub. Ghost growled again and rushed toward the door, pawing at it until Jon crossed the room and let him out. “What’s gotten into him?” Jon murmured as he watched the wolf race down the stairs and out into the courtyard, disappearing into the swirling snow outside. Shaking his head, Jon turned back to his rooms and decided he’d wasted enough time avoiding his duties and shrugged on the well worn cloak Sansa had given him some time ago. He fingered the direwolves stamped into the leather and thought of her- of her fire kissed hair and sapphire eyes, of her sweet smile and saucy temper. He’d give anything to see her again, in truth, but this was where he belonged now.

And so he went out of his rooms and into the storm, the thought of her enough to keep him warm even on the coldest of days.

[ x x x ]

It was strange, being the Northern queen that would die in a snow storm.

The storm had hit them fast and hard when they had been only an hour or so from Castle Black. She staggered as she trudged through the knee deep snow, her chest tight and her legs threatening to give way beneath her. She’d been here one time before, when she’d escaped Winterfell and Ramsay Bolton, but back then Theon had been with her and now she was utterly alone. She had become separate from her two guards and in truth she didn’t know if they lived or died.

Though she knew she couldn’t stop, her legs were slowly losing their ability to keep going and she was just so very tired. The cold was biting and she was fearful of the damage it could do to her if she didn’t find some sort of shelter soon. But it was then that she stumbled and with a cry she pitched forward into the snow.

Sansa lay there for what felt like a lifetime, willing herself to rise up from the ice and snow, but it seemed as if her body had simply given up. She was too cold, too tired to think beyond how falling asleep might have just been easier… But then she heard it, the piercing cry that broke through the wind, a sound she would always know. A wolf’s howl? She opened her eyes, struggling to at least sit upright, did I imagine it? And yet, there it came again, closer this time! Lady… She thought of her own wolf, long dead, and wondered if perhaps it was her coming to lead her to the next life. She closed her eyes and sank further into the snow. This would be it.

And then she felt it, the soft press of a cold nose against her cheek, against her neck. Reaching up, Sansa felt shaggy fur beneath her gloved hands and knew, without a doubt, a wolf had come to her. She opened her eyes and had it not been for the red eyes, she’d not have even been able to see the animal. Ghost! She dared not believe it, despite holding onto the wolf with her own two hands. It was as if Jon himself had appeared to her there in the snow, the knight she had always longed for as a girl.

Ghost whined in her ear, his nose stuck into her armpit, his strength forcing her up onto her knees. She could hear him then, she could hear Jon as if he whispered into her ear, telling her she had to get up. And so she did, somehow, someway, she rose up from the snow and took the first trembling step forward. Ghost remained at her side, his pace slow to match hers, a tuft of his fur clutched between her fingers. And they walked on and on, for how long she wasn’t certain, but eventually through the storm she could see the gate that would lead her to Jon.

It was only then that Ghost left her side; she sank to the ground, watching as he ran through an opening to the left of the gate. She’d come all this way… She had finally reached Castle Black. And that was when the world went black.

[ x x x ]

Jon was standing on the battlements when he first heard Ghost’s howl; the storm had finally begun to relent and the wolf’s cry was piercing through the snow. He felt his stomach sink, a strange feeling taking root in his heart a moment before Ghost appeared in the courtyard, yapping and growling at the two wildlings that stood about. They had grown used to his presence, but the wolf seemed nearly out of control and they both backed away looked frightened. Jon took to the stairs and as his feet touched the ground, Ghost was there, nipping at his hands, growling low in his chest. “What is it?” Jon spoke more calmly than he felt and the wolf stopped for only a moment, his red eyes staring deep into his own. He couldn’t say what it was, but Jon thought of Sansa and his heart turned over in the worst of ways. “Come on then,” he said to the wolf, gesturing for his companion to go on. Ghost took off for the gate, pausing only once to ensure his master was following after him.

Tormund had joined him by the time they opened the gates and the wildling glanced at the wolf. “Bit upset, isn’t he?” The man asked as they stepped out of the gate, both looking left and then right. Jon didn’t answer him, for it suddenly felt as if he’d been punched in the gut, the very breath stolen from his lungs.

Ghost had surged forward and was circling a body laying in the snow, whining until Jon found his footing and took a step towards him. No, he thought as he approached, telling himself over and over again that there was no way, that there was absolutely no way this was her. But as he knelt down beside the body, he caught sight of her face, slightly obscured by her hood, and then he knew. It was her… It was Sansa.

[ x x x ]

So warm… She felt as if she were floating, a warm and wonderful feeling. It was then that she snapped awake with a gasp, chest heaving as she looked all around her, suddenly well aware that she was not where she had thought she would be. And she was… She was alive! Everything came flooding back to her then; leaving Winterfell, the snow storm, becoming lost in the cold. And Ghost… Ghost had found her! Shifting on the bed she lay in, she noticed the wolf laying at the foot of her bed, nearly too big to do so. But he’d curled up as small as he could, all so he could remain close to her.

And if Ghost was there, surely that meant… Yes, now that she looked around the room, she knew at once where she was. A coughing fit suddenly racked her frame and she could feel the pain in her chest of illness. She had lived through the storm, it was true, but this illness could be the end of her.

The door to the room opened and it was Jon rushing into the room, a bowl of water cast aside so fast he nearly upended it. “Sansa!” His voice rang out as his hands placed themselves upon her shoulders, gently pushing her back down against the pillows. “Shhh, soft sweetheart,” he murmured as he stroked her hair, leaning over her to brush his lips against her forehead. Her fever had broken, he noticed at once, relief rushing through him as he settled back into the chair he had abandoned only a few minutes before. “You must be thirsty,” he spoke softly, reaching for the goblet of water that sat on the bedside table. He slipped one arm beneath her shoulders, helping her upright while he tipped the goblet against her lips, giving her a single taste of cold water that quenched her aching throat.

When he had once again settled her back against the pillows, he could not stop himself from reaching out to brush a lock away from her sweaty forehead. “You gave me a fright,” he finally said, his fingers ghosting along the curve of her rosy cheek. “Next time you might just write to me.” He chuckled and she smiled, the sound of his laughter better than any song ever could be. “You could have died, what were you thinking?” He asked, sobering then as he recalled just how close she had come to death. He had never felt that kind of fear before.

“I want you to come home.”

Sansa’s voice, though tired, is the sweetest thing he has truly ever heard. “Sansa…” He shook his head, as if trying to clear his mind, when in truth he only is trying to find the words to tell her he couldn’t. And yet… Wasn’t that all he had wanted? Everything he had done… It had been so he could go home with her. “That sounds like something you could have written me,” he said instead, causing her to laugh which turned to another coughing fit. “I can’t go home, you know that.” Those are not the words he wanted to say to her, but this was his punishment. He had been banished here to Castle Black, at least in the same kingdom as her. He looked down, away from her, unable to look her in the face when he said such words.

“You will go where your queen commands,” her reply is sharp, but she’s all rounded edges when Jon looked up at her again. “When Bran sent you here… He put your fate into my hands instead.” Jon sat back, narrowing his eyes in thought, a new feeling rushing through him. “I am the Queen in the North and all of the North is under my command… Even Castle Black… Even you. And so you will do as your queen commands.” Jon doesn’t dare believe her, though he knows it to be true. Of course it was true. But did he deserve such happiness? Suddenly, he felt her hand on his, squeezing it, reminding him of the reason he had to live at all. He remembered the last time she had stumbled into Castle Black looking for him- just days after he had been brought back to life. Back then, he had felt no purpose… At least until she arrived. She had breathed life back into him, had given him a reason to wake up every single day. He had gone to war for her (twice) and killed a queen for her. He would do it again, if it meant protecting her. Jon knew he had a choice to make now, a choice that could change his whole life.

“And what does my queen command?” His question brought a smile to her face a moment before she spoke.

“Come home.” 


	99. Jon dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon dreams of bran and forgiveness.

The dream is always the same.

He's walking the path towards the godswood; its snowing, it's cold. It's winter. He walks until he comes to the heart tree, where just like every night before, it's Bran that stands there. _You can walk..._ He'll whisper to the little brother he's always loved, grown tall as a man. _Of course I can, one can do anything in a dream, Jon._ He always responds the same, with that quick wit, a pep in his voice he no longer holds in the waking world. 

Every night, he feels as if he's growing closer to something. It's as if Bran has something to say to him, something Jon wasn't entirely ready to hear. But on this night, when he steps into that godswood and sees Bran waiting for him, something tells Jon he's ready to hear whatever it was that he has to say. _Why have you not gone home?_ Bran asks him at once, as if he senses Jon's uneasiness and wants to get the conversation going before he can wake himself up. _Why do you remain brooding at the wall when you belong at home, at Winterfell?_

Jon starts, frustration rising up within him as he gives his head a shake. _It was you who banished me here, Bran,_ he says sharply, perhaps more sharply than he means. _I accepted the punishment for my crimes, as sentenced by you,_ he amends, shifting the weight on his feet, the snow crunching beneath his heels. All around them, the snow softly flutters, reminding him of her. Of Sansa. 

To his surprise, Bran smiles, a strange sight now that he thinks on it. _Why do you think I sentenced you as King of the Six Kingdoms?_ His question is fair and Jon cannot think of the answer. _I accepted the Northern independence because it is what the North deserves. But the moment I did so, I gave away my right to punish you at all,_ he smiles again as a new look of realization dawns upon Jon's face. _The North's queen never banished you to the wall. I may be King of the remaining kingdoms, but the North's politics are not my own to tend to. _

So I... I can go home? The words are a plea upon his lips and as Bran nods, the sky above clears of clouds and instead, it is the spring sun shining down upon his head. He smiles as something warm fills him up and then...

He's awake. 

When he steps out into the courtyard of Castle Black, he can feel the warmth of the sun shining from above. He tilts his head back and sure enough, peaking through the gray clouds is a hint of blue sky. Spring is coming again, he thinks, and I must go home. 

And so home he would go.


	100. A funeral at sea.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jonsa mourns the loss of theon.

She would never forget the chill of the icy river. She would never forget the fear rushing through her blood when she heard the hounds howls. She would never forget the sharp pain that came with freezing nearly to death. But she also would never forget the warm touch of a hand against hers, encouraging her along when she thought she could take not another step. She would never forget his gentle embrace or the way he had stepped out to protect her when the soldiers had come. She would never forget what it had felt like to part with him that, feeling as if she were losing another brother, even though he had promised her they would see each other again.

Theon had been right, of course, they did see each other once again. Only now, he lay dead in her home. Tears well in her eyes and she squeezes them closed in hopes of keeping them at bay. But once again, she finds herself dissolving into a fresh wave of tears, her heart breaking all over again. 

It's been only a few hours since the battle against the Night King had ended; Sansa spent the better part of the last four hours sewing closed wounds and cleaning burns. Now that the survivors had been fed and beds found, she had closed herself off into a spare room where Theon's body had been brought. _I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa,_ that is what he'd said to her the day he had returned. _If you'll have me._ If she'd have him... Sansa had laughed with him later that day, for of course she would have him. Of course she would welcome him home to Winterfell. 

Now, she wishes she had refused him.

When the door opens, Sansa doesn't hear it. Jon steps into the room and watches her for several moments, heart breaking at the sight of her distress. He too would miss Theon, though not nearly in the way Sansa would. Theon had saved Sansa from Ramsay Bolton and for that alone, Jon would always be thankful for the man. And he knew Sansa had helped him overcome his own demons enough that he could help her runaway. They had been there for each other in ways no one else ever had. Even Jon knew he could not compare himself with what Theon had done for her. That alone had been enough for Jon to forgive Theon for what he had done so long ago. 

"Sansa..." He finally speaks her name and she raises her tear-stained face to look at him, sapphire eyes swimming with sorrow. Jon sinks down beside her, taking her into his arms as she cries for the loss that was her friend. When she's cried until she can cry no more, she pulls back as if she means to turn away but Jon slides his hand into place against her cheek, keeping her there. "I'm sorry," is all he can say, his thumb brushing the last remnants of her tears away. "I'm sorry that it had to be here, away from the sea." Jon knew what it meant to Theon to know he'd be buried as a Greyjoy, a name he reclaimed thanks to Sansa and his own bravery. A name that was his as much as Stark was his own. 

"What is dead may never die," she whispers back, Theon's House words the only ones that seemed to make any sense right then. "I will build him a statue in the crypts below, so all will know what he did for House Stark and Westeros." She goes on, swallowing against the sorrow building in her aching heart. Jon nods, his hand slipping away from her cheek, though it sought refuge in hers, fingers threading together.

"We will take him to the sea," Jon vows softly, giving her hand a squeeze. "It's what he deserves." 

[ x x x ]

As they stand on the docks of the sea, they watch the waves take Theon's body. He floats along atop a wooden plank, laden with the winter blooms Sansa had found in the gardens of Winterfell, blooming for the first time since winter had begun. "He's going home," Jon tells her as the waves crash against the docks where they stand, an icy burst of water coating her skirts. The air smelled of salt and sorrow. 

"Yes... He is..." She speaks softly, watching as Theon's body drifts further away from the docks. "He was so afraid to see you again, he swore you would never forgive him for what he had done." Sansa knew Theon had done wrong back then, but she would never forget what he had gone through nor what he had done for her. 

"I only forgave him becaue of Robb... And you." He turns to look at her only to find she's already looking at him. "If he was a brother to Robb, then he was a brother to me as well." Jon holds out an arm and she leans in against him, his arm coming around her shoulders. "And what he did for you... I'd have forgiven any man for doing what Theon did for you." Jon wishes he could forget what she had looked like that day, standing in the courtyard of Castle Black, so pale and bruised and broken. He feels Sansa shift against him and then her hand is seeking out his, gripping his fingers tightly with her own. Jon tilts his head to rest against hers and smiles when hers is already leaning towards his. 

And together, they watch their friend drift away. 


	101. Romeo & Juliet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: romeo & juliet au.

When Jon comes into the throne room, it's too late. 

"No..." He whispers as he discards Longclaw, sinking to his knees beside her fallen body. Jon knows she's gone as he lifts her body into his arms, the crimson stain spreading fast beneath her body. She is still warm to the touch, though her lids have fallen closed over those sapphire eyes, her chest no longer rises and falls with her every breath. He's unaware of the tears that streak his cheeks as he cradles her close, uncaring of the blood that stains his hands, his clothes, his soul. He cannot believe he's failed her this way. He cannot believe that he allowed it to come to this. 

The sound of footfalls echoes in the room and his attention snaps up, his Stark colored eyes falling upon the woman who still yet holds a blade in her hands. Daenerys Targaryen has taken from him the most important piece of him, the one person he would have gone to the ends of the earth for. The person he would have thrown his life away to save, the person he had been resurrected to protect. Resurrected... He thinks as he leans back over Sansa's body, knowing he had lost his reason for living. In Sansa, he had found life, he had found warmth, and he had found comfort. Without her... There was nothing. Nothing at all.

Daenerys stares back at him with those wide, violet eyes of hers, mouth a tight frown as she holds fast to the dagger in her hands. The blade is dripping with blood, blood he knows belongs to Sansa. Though he is most reluctant to do so, Jon pries himself from her and rises up to his feet, bringing Longclaw with him. He is across the room in several strides, knocking from the dragon queen's hands the blade. She is no match for him, of course, in strength or swordsmanship. "Jon, please!" Her voice is a plea that he ignores and a moment later, Jon is plunging the blade into the queen's chest. She sags and only then does he pull the sword free, allowing her to tumble to the ground, bleeding out. He would leave her there to die as she had left Sansa. 

When Daenerys has fallen, Jon returns to her side, dropping down so he might pull her close once more. Her murderer is dead, but he feels no comfort. For what comfort could he find when her eyes would never again open? What comfort could he find when she would never again smile upon him, when she would never again so sweetly say his name? The world around him sways and for a moment, he thinks of turning his blade upon himself. It seems the only logical answer, after all, for he knows he cannot live without her. Not for another moment.

And then... Just as he's reaching for Longclaw yet again, he remembers something the red priestess had told him so very long ago. _Those brought back by the Lord of Light... Sometimes they can bestow life upon another. The last kiss of R'hllor, where the flame of life is passed from one to another._ Jon knows the flame of life burns within him and if there was a way to save her, it would be this way. It was true, he would trade his life for hers, but at least then she would live on. With or without him, Jon was just happy knowing she would survive. And so he leaned over her and captured her mouth with his, knowing it was their first and only kiss. He only wished he'd told her the truth when they had the time. 

He can feel it, the warmth of what life is, passing from his lips to hers. He can feel her body relax from the grip of death as his begins to stiffen. Jon can only smile when he draws back, catching sight of the first breath her lungs take. And then... As darkness claims him, he thinks of her and her radiant smile, and for the first time in a long time, he's truly and utterly happy. 

[ x x x ]

When Sansa wakes, she's confused. 

Her hand touches her chest, where surely she had felt the dagger's blow from Daenerys, where she had felt the blood flowing from the wound. Blue eyes sweep across the darkened throne room and there she sees her, silver hair stained crimson, violet eyes wide open in a pale face. Sansa shifts and her hand touches another, the sight of this body bringing a cry from her lips. "Jon!" She cries as she reaches for him, pulling his limp body into her arms, resting him against her legs. "Jon! No!" Her tears run down her cheeks as she leans over him, crying into his chest, desperate to feel the rise and fall of his chest. But there is nothing... Nothing at all. 

Cold despair rushes through her as she clutches his body close, her own racked with sobs as she mourns her lost love. What is life without Jon? It doesn't seem fair, for her to live and for him to die beside her. How cruel of fate, to pull them apart in the most permanent of ways. In Jon she had found meaning in her own agonizing existence. In Jon, she had found safety and comfort. In Jon, she had found love. Without him there to keep her steady and light up her darkest nights... What was the point? 

She raises her tear-stained face and her gaze settles upon Longclaw, laying there just out of her reach. There is no hesitation as she extends over Jon, fingers closing around the white wolf hilt, drawing the heavy blade into her hands. This felt like the only way. This felt like the only way to be happy again. If she could not be with Jon in life, then in death it would have to be. He would be there on the other side, waiting for her with the rest of those she had lost over the years. 

And so she smiles as she navigates the weight of the sword, turning it so the blade faces her own body. She thinks of him as she plunges it into her chest, into the very spot she had felt Daenerys' stab her hours before. The pain is nothing compared to the pain she had felt at losing him, in truth, and it's only a moment later that the blade clatters to the ground beside her. As she slumps over, her hand grasps for his, and she feels nothing but relief as the darkness of death claims her for the second time that day.

In the end, they would be together after all. 


	102. Amnesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: modern amnesia.

Everything is a blank space. Where memories should have been, was nothing. Where feelings for the people around here should have been, she felt nothing instead. Well... Almost nothing. 

She stands in the center of her bedroom, though she only knows it's hers because there's pictures everywhere. Pictures of her and Arya, pictures of her and Lady, pictures of her and the rest of her family. It was overwhelming, looking at all of those photos and knowing they were all dead and gone, though she felt no sorrow over their losses. Sansa supposes she should be happy to have left all that pain and suffering behind her, and yet... She wishes she could feel something, even sadness, even despair. The doctors had told her that the memories might someday come back, that she might someday feel the pain of her losses, but until then she would live in a world of a different kind of suffering. 

"Sansa?" 

She turns at the sound of the voice, unsurprised to see Jon standing there in her doorway. He is all she has left now... The only other person from her family left living. "Jon," she tests his name upon her lips, already becoming familiar and sweet. For some reason, being near him brought her happiness and she had to wonder why there were no photos of them together within this room. Jon had lived with her and her family growing up, though she couldn't remember that now, and he had come as soon as the hospital had called about the accident. From the moment of his arrival, he had been beside her, his touch always warm and comforting, his voice always gentle and soft. Whenever she was with him, it was almost as if she were going to feel something again. 

Jon stares at her for several long moments before he pushes away from the door frame, coming to stand at the center of her room, an arms length from her. He could still yet recall the night two weeks before when his phone had lit up with a number he didn't know, though the zip code had told him it was a Northern number. He had ignored it at first, though a cold dread had settled into the pit of his stomach. When the voicemail notification beeped, his heart had sank. Back then, the doctors had told him Sansa was the only survivor of the crash, though the odds were not good. _A head injury_, they had told him when he called back, she might not ever wake up again. But by the time he had arrived at the hospital, she was awake, but she no longer knew who she was or what had happened. _Amnesia,_ the doctors explained,_ from the injury._ She might never again remember her family or herself, though the doctors encouraged him to try and help jog her memory as best he could. 

And that was how he found himself where he was now, living with her in the house he'd grown up in. He couldn't very well leave her alone, especially in her condition. "Are you hungry?" He asks, unsure of what to say or do now. It had been years since he'd last seen her and to think this was how they would be reunited... It didn't seem fair. "I can make you something to eat," he continues with a grin when she nods, her cheeks two blooms of color as she steps closer to him. "I'm not the best cook, but I can try." 

Her laugh is sweet though it ceases immediately; her eyes flicker to the photos of her dead family and she wonders if it is wrong of her to laugh, though she can't remember them it seems disrespectful. Jon feels for her- he can't imagine living in a world where you don't even know who you are, let alone anyone else. But he opens up an arm and she slides into it, their bodies meshing perfectly together as they walk through the door and out into the hall. Together, he will help her build a new life, and if he can, he will help her remember the life she once had. 


	103. He loves her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon realizes he's in love.

The touch of her hand to his elbow has become quite usual.

If it's not a hand to his elbow, she's looping her arm through his, their shoulders always brushing. If it's not her, it's him tenderly brushing hair from her face, it's him turning to her only to find she's already looking at him. It has become normal to feel the soft touch of her hand in his or to hear her speaking his name in the silence of a room. In fact, Jon has begun to find himself lonely when she's not next to him. 

On this particular morning, he's alone as he crosses the courtyard towards the stables. His mind has been a whirlwind since he woke, knowing every day that passes is another one closer to the arrival of the Night King. Soon, they won't have the luxury of time, for soon they will be tangled up in a war that means far more than who sits upon any throne. He thinks he might take a ride into the snowy forest, perhaps that will be enough to clear his mind of war and a pretty redhead, though as he enters the stables he finds it to already be occupied. 

"You're up early, little crow," Tormund observes as he approaches, his grin as wild as his red hair. "But where is your pretty little sister? She is never far from that arm of yours." He gestures at his right arm, which sure enough feels empty without Sansa's hand upon it. Tormund, like a few others at Winterfell, knew there was something brewing beneath the surface of the half siblings relationship. Tormund knew most of society would turn up their noses at the thought of such a pairing, but if they made each other happy he didn't see why it mattered. Though, Tormund was quite certain neither the little crown or his pretty sister had any idea they cared so deeply for the other. 

"Sleeping, I imagine." Jon replies, his defenses up though he doesn't quite know why. In truth, it had taken all of his self control not to peak into her room that morning, just to assure himself that she was alright. At least, that's what he told himself he wanted to do. Deep down, Jon probably knows that his feelings for Sansa transcend that of a brother, but propriety and societal pressure keeps him from admitting it to anyone, even himself. 

"One might wonder if you wish you were sleeping in her bed," Tormund says with a wink, his comment surprising Jon to his core. Tormund must notice his expression change for he laughs, reaching out to clasp him upon the shoulder. "You two don't hide things well, you know." Jon arches a brow in question, shaking his head as if he doesn't understand what the other man is saying to him. Tormund can only laugh again, rolling his eyes as he steps around the younger man. "Think about how you feel when she touches you, little crow, that is your answer." He tosses the words over his shoulder, leaving Jon standing there in the stables, forgetting exactly what he was doing there. 

It's a short while later that Jon finds himself walking down the main hall of Winterfell, coming around a corner only to see Sansa coming towards him. "Good morning," she greets with a smile, her blue eyes shining in the torchlight. "I've been looking for you," she goes on, looping her arm with his as she falls into step beside him. At the feel of her hand on his arm, Jon feels it, that warmth that always floods him when he feels her touch. It's then Tormund's words echo in the back of his mind _think about how you feel when she touches you,_ words that in the moment hadn't made any sense at all. But now... Now, he's realizing. Now, he's understanding. 

He loves her.


	104. Please dont cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: "Please dont cry" dialogue prompt list.

He hates that look in her eyes, but he hates himself even more for putting it there. 

“Please, don’t cry,” he implores her softly, his words eliciting a laugh from her once frowning lips. It is a laugh without joy, bordering upon agony, a laugh that sends chills racing down his spine. “Sansa...” All he can do is speak her name like a plea, hoping she will understand, hoping that she will see. 

“Don’t,” she says with a shake of her head, red hair tumbling down around her shoulders, blue eyes sharp as ice. “How could you do this to me?” Those words come softer than all the others, a voice that is hollow, broken. A voice that does not belong to her. “You just gave her our home, Jon. We took the North back, we took Winterfell back! And you just gave it to her?” Her fists rail against him and at first, he does not stop her. 

In truth, her words are torture and he deserves them. They cut so much deeper than the fists she lays into his chest. But he wants her to understand, he wants her to know the truth that it etched so deeply into his heart and soul. And so when she lashes out again, he grabs hold of both her wrists, his strength far outweighing hers. She struggles to free herself from his grasp but he keeps hold on her until she sinks into his chest, softly crying. Those words can’t come, maybe won’t come, in truth. He’s lying to her for her own protection and telling her the truth might only endanger her more, though she’s managing to do quite a bit of damage in that department all on her own. Jon recalls the way Daenerys had looked that afternoon, when her nostrils had flared and her violet eyes had narrowed as the threat left her lips. It mattered not who crossed the dragon queen, even the Lady of Winterfell would not be immune to her dragon’s fire. Jon couldn’t let that happen, no, he wouldn’t let that happen. No matter what it cost him. 

“She’ll be a good queen to all of us,” is all he can manage to say a few moments later, though these are not the words he knows Sansa wants to hear. She looks up then and Jon can see the anger as it rushes through her, white hot and surging, darkening her sapphire eyes as she raises their gaze to meet his own. 

“I don’t know you, anymore,” she says softly, words that cut him deeper than any of her other ones have yet. She escapes from his grip then, taking a single step back, hands curled into fists at her either side. Jon watches her as she leaves, unable to find the words to stop her from leaving. _This is for you,_ he tells himself over and over, _this is to keep you safe._ Even if she hates him, even if he has to leave Winterfell forever, it won’t matter so long as she’s alive. So long as she’s safe. 

And so even though there was nothing more he wants to do than to stop her from walking out of his chamber, he lets her go.


	105. A modern accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: a modern accidental pregnancy.

She couldn't believe this had happened. 

Sitting there on the bathroom floor, staring at the little white stick on the tub's edge was making her sick. Pivoting, she throws up into the toilet and curses when she sits back to wipe her mouth. Positive, she thinks as the little plus sign appears on the miniscule screen, a single image changing everything in an instant.

The phone rings. 

Cursing again, Sansa rises up from the floor, steadying herself on the sink before she reaches for her phone sitting there beside her toothbrush. Jon, the screen flashes as her finger hovers over the little red phone, thinking to herself now was not the time. And yet... "Hello," she says, bringing the phone to her ear.

"I have to see you," his voice is low, raspy, telling. Sansa feels warmth rush through her, thinking of him... Of his dark, wild curls and smoldering eyes that she swears she'll drown in. "Tonight..." She imagines him on the other end, on the edge of the bed that she found to be far more comfortable than her own. Sansa wants it as much as he does. 

"Tonight," she agrees, knowing there was no way she could stay away.

[ x x x ]

  
The moment he opens the door, his hands are on her. Jon nearly drags her into his apartment, his hands covering every inch of her body. His kiss was wild and she could feel the heat of his lips ghosting across her skin. "Jon," she gasps as his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her exposed neck. "I have to tell you something," she says between kisses, though it's a feat indeed. 

"Tell me later," Jon hisses as her hands move across his jeans, over the proof of what he felt for her. He's got her up against the wall now, one hand pressed against the wall to the right of her head, the other one tracing the swell of her breasts beneath the neckline of the black dress she was wearing. He's done nothing but think about her for days, the image of her radiant smile and vibrant red hair imprinted upon his soul. It's gone deeper than he ever imagined it could have. What had begun after a drunken hook up had turned into monthly meet ups. From monthly to almost weekly, they swore to themselves it wasn't anything beyond just that... A hook up. But there was no denying what was beginning to build, even if neither of them could see it just yet. 

"I'm pregnant." 

She blurts the two words before she can lose her nerve. At once, Jon is pulling back, his gray eyes widening slightly. "What?" He asks, tilting his head as if he has not heard her quite right. "What did you say?" 

"I'm pregnant," Sansa repeats as his arms fall away, his shock registering as her words take root inside his brain. "It's yours." Of course it's his, she's only been with him since... Well, she wouldn't think about Ramsay, not anymore. "I... Uh, figured you'd want to know," she's quieter now, kicking at the carpet with her toe, lower lip caught between her teeth. Now that she was here, Sansa wasn't sure what to do. She had given him the information, but what was she expecting him to do with it? They were barely friends, let alone anything else. She wouldn't blame him if he didn't care what she chose to do with the baby, after all they were only hooking up, right?

"Wow," Jon suddenly sputters, his lips twitching with a sudden smile. It's like he's climbing out from his shock and into... Joy? Was he... Happy? "Wow," he says again, this time shaking his head as he settles his gaze upon her. "It's up to you but... I want to be there for you. For them." He goes on, his hand hesitantly reaching for her stomach. She can't help but to smile. A moment later, she's drawn his hand down, her's sliding into place over it. 

"You really want to do this?" She asks, truly surprised. How many twenty-something year old guys would so willingly jump into this? An accidental pregnancy from what had to be from only the first or second night. "We barely know each other." 

Jon couldn't say why he felt the connection he did to her, but he did. And he knew she felt it, too. "We've got at least nine months to get caught up," he grins and to his surprise, she laughed, a sweet sound that warmed him to the very core. Then she slid into his embrace, an embrace quite different from the ones they had shared up until that very moment. A few moments later, he took her by the hand and drew her towards the couch, where for the first night since their meeting a few weeks before, they sat down and just talked. 

They didn't talk about everything- some things were not ready to be divulged, but they talked about their families and their losses. They talked about a few of their dreams and what they could name their child. When she fell asleep against him hours later, Jon carefully carried her into his room, depositing her into the bed they had shared a few times already. He climbed in beside her and reached out, brushing a lock of red hair from her face. It was true, having a baby with an almost stranger was probably not the smartest decision he could make... But Jon could not ignore the pull he felt towards this girl. It was as if fate had led her to him and him to her. He knew, without a doubt, that this was the way he was supposed to be going. Besides, it was as his mother had always said... 

It wouldn't be easy, but the right path never was. 


	106. Post RLJ reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: a deeper look at jon & sansa post rlj reveal, since d&d didnt.

The air is sharp, is aching in his chest.

But perhaps that is more heartbreak than cold. 

He sits beneath the canopy of red weirwood leaves, the lightest of snows falling from the gray sky above. In truth, he's missed this; the ache of the cold, the sense of isolation that the godswood brings. He still remembers the last time he prayed beneath these trees... The night they had taken Winterfell back. Beneath the trees, he had listened for the whispers of his family's ghosts, wishing that his father would speak to him, to guide him. Now, his father was not who he had always thought him to be. 

Now, even he was someone else entirely. 

That night after reclaiming Winterfell, when he had sat in this very spot, he had wished for Ned Stark to tell him he was on the right path. That in the end, everything he was fighting for was worth it. That losing Rickon meant something, that losing nearly everyone he loved meant something. Ned Stark had never showed himself, had never spoken to him, but rather Sansa had come to him, proving to him yet again just what his purpose in life had become. 

Much like that night, he hears the soft crunch of snow beneath her boots. He would know the sound of her footsteps anywhere. When he looks up, she stands there just out of reach, vivid red hair dusted with the falling snow, her cheeks pink from the cold. For a long moment, there is nothing but silence, but her eyes tell him everything. "Sam told you." He turns away, unable to face her. He can't take her pity. His eyes burn but they do not spill over, though there again is that ache in his chest. 

"No," she says as she sinks to the ground beside him, a heap of black and gray wool skirts there in the white snow. "Bran did." She goes on, her gaze unwavering until he raises his solemn gray eyes to meet hers. "It doesn't change anything," she ventures on, the words thick in her throat. This revelation changes everything, but not in the way anyone else thinks. "You're still Jon, you're still my bro-" she stops, shaking her head before she reaches out to touch his hand. "You're still Jon." She clarifies and this time, a small smile flickers on his lips. "Targaryen, Stark, Snow... It doesn't matter because to me, you're always going to be Jon." 

Her words mean everything to him. "Thank you, Sansa," he says quietly, slipping his hand into hers. 

His mind is a whirlwind of moments; wrestling with Robb in the courtyard, Arya and Bran cheering on the sidelines. Then there's Sansa with baby Rickon in her arms, their hair matching shades of red. There's his father- for that's who Ned Stark was- telling him that their blood was one and the same, even if their names were not. Even Lady Stark is there, her severe face softening only when she once peered down at him in his sickbed. There's Sansa again, appearing through the gates of Castle Black hours after his revival, her face bruised and her soul broken. She's there over and over again, hundreds of little moments, like the warm touch of her hand or the soft glow of her smile. Maybe it was as Sansa said, all along he's been a Stark. 

Maybe it was as she said, that nothing had to change.

Well, one thing has to change, he thinks as their eyes meet once again. All these months of cat and mouse, of fighting the feelings that grew between them... Suddenly, the one thing that kept them apart all this time was gone. "Sansa... I..." He begins, for what better time than now would be to tell her the truth of how he feels? They are days, no, hours, from the fight against the Night King and he knows as well as she does that either one of them could be dead when it was over. He wants her to know the truth of how he feels before then, just in case... "Sansa..." She's leaning in, so close he can feel the warmth of her breath against his skin when she exhales, her lower lip caught between her teeth. It's there on the tip of his tongue, it's there for him to say except....

"What are you doing?" 

They spring apart and when they turn, its Arya they're facing. "Arya!" Sansa says, jumping to her feet, dusting her snow covered skirts off. "I told you not to sneak up on people like that!" Arya smirks but nods anyways, knowing she should honor her sister's wishes- even if she enjoyed frightening Sansa when she did. "We were just talking," Sansa goes on, looking down at Jon who still yet sits, clearly recovering from the shock of Arya appearing and catching them in a moment that they could not really explain. There was only one reason two people leaned in so close to one another and it was not a reason that two supposed half siblings should have had. 

"Right, talking," Arya replies after a moment, suspicion in her dark colored eyes as they fall upon her older siblings. But she says nothing more on the subject- she's seen the looks Sansa and Jon have exchanged and she knows what those looks say. She only wishes they would be honest with her and honestly, with themselves. "White walkers were spotted," she changes the subject and that's when Jon finally snaps back to reality. "Just outside of Wintertown." When Jon is on his own feet, Arya offers him the quickest of smiles, a smile that says what her words are not. "I'll see you two at dinner," she raises her hand in a gesture of goodbye before she turns and heads back the way she must have come, her footsteps silent despite the snow beneath her feet. 

"I don't know how to tell her," Jon says when she's long gone, though his stare follows the path she had once walked. Of all the Stark children, with the exception of Robb, he'd always been closest to Arya. But now... She was like a different person. He doesn't know what she'll say or how she'll react when he tells her the truth of his parentage. Again, he's full of doubt, and full of fear of what this new revelation will do to the family he's just barely begun to piece back together again. 

"She loves you as much as I do," Sansa speaks quietly and Jon turns back to look at her, though she too is staring off at where Arya had once been walking. "You're her big brother, no matter what." Her gaze shifts and she smiles when their eyes meet. "Nothing will change for you two." That she knows for certain. Jon could have told Arya that he wasn't even their cousin and she would still love him the same. Jon sucks in a breath and nods, knowing she was right, as always. "We should go back... Before someone else sneaks up on us." They laugh and Jon offers her his arm, unable to help but to smile when she loops hers with his and they begin to make their way back towards Winterfell. "I mean it, you know..." She says as they walk, causing Jon to arch a brow at her, a silently posed question. "That you're always going to be Jon to me. It doesn't matter if your my brother or not, I'm always going to love you as I do." Her cheeks are two red blooms of color and he knows the color doesn't come from the cold. 

He longs to say it, but he's lost his nerve, and so all he can do is lean in closer to her as they come up over the hill, her body warm against his. But he vows, before the battle begins, she'll hear the truth from his own lips. 


	107. Chapter 107

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: jon is wounded during his one x one with ramsay & sansa takes care of him.

He doesn't feel the first arrow pierce his right thigh.

He doesn't feel the second one either, when it pierces him through the left shoulder. 

He doesn't even feel the third arrow as it embeds itself into his left side. 

A moment later, his fist connects with Ramsay's cheek and now that he feels. Over and over again, he punches the monster that had taken his home, his baby brother, and his sister's light until he's just barely breathing beneath him. Ramsay bleeds from a split lip, a broken nose, every inch of his face swelling from the dozen or so punches Jon manages to land before his attention is taken elsewhere. 

It's as he draws back for another hit that he catches sight of her; she's pale and drawn, red hair just barely contained in its single braid that hangs over her shoulder. Her sapphire eyes are wide as their gazes meet and her name is a whisper on his lips... Sansa... His lips move, but he cannot find his voice. And so he stumbles to his feet, staggering forward two steps before the first wave of pain rushes through him. "Jon!" He hears her voice a moment before her hands are on his shoulders, warm and strong, her grip steadying him. "Jon..." Softer this time and he can see the tears clinging to her lashes, can feel her grip tighten as he sinks towards the ground, darkness consuming him before he can say a single word. 

She knows he's going down a moment before he begins to fall.

Though she holds fast to him, he is heavy, limbs like lead as he falls unconcious, and all she can do is ease him down to the frozen ground. "Take him in chains!" She commands the nearest men dressed in Stark and Mormont livery and at once they spring into action, rushing forward to slap irons on the fallen Bolton, who lays there bloodied beyond recognition in the snow. "Jon..." She whispers then, peering down at his bruised, bloody face, knowing she would never be able to repay what he's done for her this day. 

"Let me help, little lady." 

It's Tormund standing at her side then and she looks up into his eyes for a long moment before she finally nods. Edd appears next and he and Tormund stoop down and with Sansa's hands guiding them up, they support Jon between the two of them. "Take him upstairs, to the Lord's chambers." She says softly and they both nod, before beginning the slow walk into Winterfell, Sansa trailing just behind them.

She stops for only a moment, suddenly feeling anxious as she recalls the last time she'd been inside her home. But then she thinks of Jon and knows she cannot feel fear, not right now, not when he needs her so much more. And so she crosses the threshold and steps inside Winterfell, speaking only to direct Tormund and Edd down another hall and up a single flight of steps that lead up to the corridor where the Lord's chambers are. It's been years since she walked these halls, walked down to these rooms. Back then... With Ramsay... He had kept her in another wing, far from where anybody might hear her screams. These rooms that once belonged to her mother and father... She's not stepped foot inside of them since they once resided within. 

But now, she throws open the door so Tormund and Edd can enter, gesturing for them to place Jon upon the neatly made bed. "Send someone with water and linen. Bring me wine from the kitchens," she says to Edd who nods and slips from the room without another word. "Find Agatha, ask her for a needle and thread," she tells Tormund, the oldest living maid in the palace had always been kind to her, even when commanded by Ramsay and Sansa knows she will help. Tormund hesitates only for a moment, long enough to spare his comrade a quick glance, but then he too is gone.

As she sinks into a chair at his bedside, Jon softly groans as he claws his way back into the waking world. "Soft, Jon. You're safe," she murmurs softly, reaching out a hand to brush a sweat drenched curl from his forehead. To her surprise, his hand shoots up and takes hold of hers, his dark eyes opening to look up into hers. His mouth moves as he tries to speak, but she shakes her head, shushing him quietly. "Save your strength." She whispers as she leans over him, brushing a gentle kiss to his temple. 

She's like a dream come to life; she's beautiful there at his bedside, her blue eyes dark and damp with worry. He hates that she's crying for him, he doesn't deserve her tears. "Sansa... I..." He only wants to tell her he's sorry, he only wants her to know how badly he hurts knowing Rickon is lost to them. But she shakes her head, pressing a single finger against his mouth. It's as if his words are too painful for her to hear him say. In truth, they're too painful for him to say. 

"Tomorrow," is all she says and Jon nods, because at least they have tomorrow still. 

[ x x x ]

When he wakes up, it's to sunlight spilling in through the window. 

His body is tight, aching, bandages wrapped around his limbs and ribs, though the pain reminds him that he's alive. He glances around the room, wondering for only a moment where he is; it's been years since he's been in these rooms, but he knows them to be the Lord's chambers. It's the room where his father and Lady Stark had once stayed. Back when they had been children, he and Robb would sneak into the room to steal swigs of ale from their father's jug. The room is the same and yet, entirely different. Jon knows the papers that litter the desk against the eastern wall are not addressed to Lord Stark, but to Lord Bolton. He knows that the clothes hanging on pegs on the other wall do not belong to his father, but to Ramsay Bolton. 

For a moment, he contemplates destroying the room, starting with tossing the clothing into the hearth, but he stops only when he hears Ghost's soft whimper from the side of the bed. He's been so preoccupied by his surroundings, his direwolf has gone noticed where he sleeps on the floor beside the bed. "Good boy, Ghost..." Jon says softly as he leans over the bed to pat the wolf on the head, surprised to find that Ghost doesn't lay there alone. 

With a thin sheet draped over her body, Sansa snores softly on the floor beside the bed, her head resting comfortably against Ghost's shaggy fur. Jon realizes a moment later that she's been there all night. A smile tugs on his lips and he swings his legs over the bed only to sink down to where she lays, tenderly stroking her hair as he softly calls her name. "You shouldn't be moving," she admonishes in a sleepy tone, breathing in as she rolls her face up to face his. Her eyes are tired and her cheeks are pale, but her rosy lips curve with a small smile at the sight of his face. 

"And you shouldn't sleep on the floor," he quips back and he's elated to hear her laugh. He stands upright then and extends out a hand for her to take, which she does, and he helps her back onto her feet. For a moment, they stand there in silence, dozens of thoughts rushing through their minds. "Sansa, I..." He begins and she looks down at her feet, as if already knows what he's going to say. "Thank you," he goes on to say and her head snaps back up, surprise etched into her features. "You saved me... You saved all of us." She blushes and looks away, focusing her eyes instead upon Ghost, who's now stretching on the rug before the dying fire. "But Rickon..." Her face hardens and she shakes her head, closing her eyes against the tears that threaten to spill. 

"There was no saving him." Sansa whispers when she opens her eyes, staring into his dark Stark colored ones that remind her so much of her father, of Arya, that it nearly takes her breath away. "It's just us now." Her words are sharp, hollow, and they break his heart. But she's right. Arya is missing, as is Bran, and in a world like theirs... They are most likely dead, though neither one of them wish to admit it. Robb and Rickon were already gone and that left she and Jon as the last remaining Stark's. "The last of the Stark's." 

"I'm not a Stark." He says at once, but her face contorts with anger and she shakes that magnificent red head. 

"You are to me." She replies forcefully, her tone daring him to disagree. 

Jon can't stop the relief that rushes through him at her words, the feeling of acceptance stronger than it has ever felt between them. "The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives." Jon finally says the only words that make any sense at all. She smiles then and nods, their father's words an echo all around them. For a moment, it was as if Ned Stark was there, guiding them on to whatever it was that would come next. There are no more words that he can say and so he cups her face into his palm and draws her closer. The space between them minimal at best, he presses his lips against her forehead, lingering far longer than he might have done only a few weeks before. When he draws back, her cheeks are flushed and his feel just as warm. 

They might be alone in this world, but at least they had each other. 


	108. You dont have to save me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt request: taylor swift sentence starter- you dont have to save me but would you run away with me?

_No one can protect anyone. _

Her words are a constant echo in his mind; around and around they go, a never ending reminder of all that was at stake. Tomorrow there would be a battle, a battle he vows to win if only to keep her from harm. Though Sansa might have said there was no one to protect her, he would prove her wrong. He would make her see that he was not like everyone else in her life that had let her down. He would make her see that there was still someone left who loved her, who would fight for her, who would die for her. It was as he had told the red priestess, should he die upon the battlefield that next morning, so be it. He would not live without Sansa, he would not live knowing he had failed her. 

The inky black sky above him glitters with stars, the moon's soft white glow filling him with a gentle warmth that reminds him of her. As always, she's there on his mind, never straying far from his thoughts. He thinks of her soft, but wary smile, wishing to see it shine like the sun that sleeps beyond the horizon. He thinks of her fire kissed hair, slipping like silk between his fingers when she curls into his embrace. He thinks of the way her breath catches in her throat when she's upset with him and he realizes he can tell the exact moment her heart must begin to race. He loves that. When had he begun to love that so very much?

He's walking through the tents of his soldiers, his small but stable army that is quite the ragtag group of men. Tormund and a few men finally sleep around a fire, bottles of ale littered around their frames. Jon can't help but to smile at the sight, though he shakes his head when his foot kicks one of the bottles that still remains half full. So long as they were battle ready the next morning, Jon cared little for how they spent their nights. With a few exceptions, Tormund had become one of his most trusted companions, he would always believe in the wildling. 

Jon knows well that he himself should sleep, but his feet do not take him towards his own tent, but rather towards hers. It's so late into the evening, he knows she must be sleeping so he means only to peak in at her, to ensure she's alright after their slight argument earlier that evening. As he approaches her tent, he notices the candle that still yet burns within, the flicker of light peeking through the slight gap at the front of the tent. He pauses only a moment before he slides his hand into the gap and tugs the flap apart, thinking that she'd gone to sleep with a candle still yet burning. But, to his surprise, she remains awake. She's wrapped in her furs with Ghost at her feet, settled into a chair beside a small table. Ghost lifts his head from his paws as she turns, surprised to see him there so late into the night. "Jon... Is everything alright?" Her first instinct is that something has happened, that there is danger brewing outside her tent. But Jon nods his head and smiles, taking a few steps inside of the tent, leaving the wind to howl outside. Her sapphire eyes are tired, her skin stripped of its color leaving her looking pale and weary. But her features flood with relief at the sight of his nod, of his smile, and she reaches down to absently pat Ghost who's head now rests upon her lap. "Shouldn't you be resting?" She asks then, gesturing for him to sit if he liked, which he did, taking the empty chair on the other side of her table. Said table is littered with parchment, half written letters and unsealed ones addressed to her; he wonders who such letters are from and for. As if she can read his thoughts, she reaches out and shuffles the papers together, setting them aside. "He writes me still," she says softly and Jon knows she means Ramsay. His heart leaps into his throat and anger rushes through his entire being. 

Now, even more than ever, does he vow to destroy Ramsay Bolton on the battlefield in the morning. 

"He's not going to hurt you ever again, I swear it to you." He says in a voice that doesn't sound like his own. The words are an echo of the ones he said to her earlier that day, when she had told him that no one could protect her or anyone ever again. "I'm going to keep you safe from him." He promises in earnest, leaning forward, arm outstretched to gently touch her hand that sits upon the table top. Jon is reminded of when she had done a similar thing, when she had insisted they take up the fight against Ramsay to take back their home and their little brother. She looks up when his hand touches hers and he sees it, the flicker of a smile, and at once his heart is increasing its speed. 

"You don't have to save me," she says softly, so softly he thinks for a moment she's not even spoken. True fear is written across her features then, a look he's not seen aside from a flicker of it earlier that day. But there in the dark of night, in the middle of the night, he can see the true fear that must consume her. It is that fear that keeps her awake this late into the night, the same fear that must have kept her awake all these nights since her escape from Winterfell. "We could runaway," she goes on, softer still, tears gathering upon her lashes. Something like a laugh and a sob tears from her throat as she turns away, drawing her hand away from his. She can't imagine what it will be like for her if she loses him too, the only family she has left. Rickon is as good as dead, she's resolved to live with that for the rest of her life. Arya and Bran were probably dead, too. And of course Robb and her parents were gone. Jon was all she had left. The idea of losing him frightened her a whole lot more than returning to Ramsay did, though she couldn't say when that fear had usurped the other. 

Jon understands her, truly he does. Had he himself not wished to run away that very same day she had come to him at Castle Black? Had he not wished to run away to some place warm, some place where nobody would know his name? Where he could start all over again. But then she had shown up and forced his world to start spinning once again. She had turned up on his door step and given his life new meaning, true meaning. Jon can't blame her for her fears- she's afraid of losing the battle, of going back to Ramsay. He can't blame her for having such little faith in him and the army he's mustered up, but when Jon Snow swore a vow, it meant something. And this was a vow more important than any other vow he knows he's ever made and probably will ever make. 

And so he rises up, coming around the table where he sat to drop down on her other side, Ghost's tail curling around his feet from where he still lay at her feet. Jon reaches for her hands again, gently tugging them into his grasp, rubbing warmth back into them with his own. "Tomorrow... We'll go home. I promise you, we'll go home." There was no need to runaway, no need to hide. Tomorrow, he would take her home if it was the last thing he did. 

For a long moment she stares down at him before she gives a single nod, a small smile curling on her lips. She could not help but to believe in him- with his solemn Stark colored eyes and his lips pursed in such a way, she somehow felt her faith growing. "Home..." She tests the word upon her lips and smiles again, a stronger smile than he's seen since their reunion. She liked the way the word sounded upon her lips and she liked the feeling of hope growing inside of her. She's not felt hope in years. 

And so home they would go, no matter what it cost. 


	109. A merciful queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: Sansa discovers Shae´s fate. Jon comforts her and lets her be just Sansa for a little while (no Lady of Winterfell, Queen in the North wathever the setting is).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that im caught up posting these, going forward all the summaries will be the actual request sent to me, rather than a brief (and terrible) summary of it.

Her tears have long since been all spent, but she mourns for her friend all the same.

Tucked away into her chambers, she sits in the window seat that overlooks the courtyard. It's a quiet afternoon- winter is fading and she knows it by the sunshine that still yet warms her through the glass. The thick layers of snow and ice would take weeks, perhaps even months, to melt, but the signs of spring were all around. It feels like a lifetime ago that she felt the true warmth of the summer sun, that she looked up into a clear blue sky. 

It's been several days since she had learned the truth of Shae's fate and three since Jon had returned to her. He's taken command of the duties that should be hers and the North bends to him as easily as they had only a year before. The North remembers, the North doesn't forget. Jon Snow was a hero to them, no matter what the rest of the world thought. 

And truthfully, those who might speak ill of Jon Snow are dead, now. 

She sighs, reaching up to run her hand through her red hair, worn loose from its usual braids. The memory of Shae running her hand through her hair filters through her and she closes her eyes against the pain of it, recalling the soft tug as Shae fixed her hair in Northern braids one bad afternoon, if only to cheer her up. Shae had been her one true friend, the only person in all of King's Landing that she could trust. In truth, she suspects Shae watched over her far more than she ever let on and Sansa only wishes she could thank her for it all. 

When she opens her eyes, its to blink, fingers now collecting tears from her cheeks. It seemed there were tears left inside of her, after all. 

Darkness has begun to fall when she hears a knock upon her chamber door.

She rises up from where she sits to cross the room and open the door, knowing before it opens who will be standing there. "I brought you supper," Jon says by way of greeting, offering her both a smile and a still steaming bowl of stew. A smile tugs on her lips and she accepts the bowl with a murmur of thanks, stepping aside to allow him entrance to her rooms. 

Jon watches as she sinks into a chair nearer to the fire and blows on the steaming food, her blue eyes dark and swollen with her grief. As if she feels his gaze upon her, she raises her face and yet again smiles, the wounded smile of someone trying to be brave. "How are things? I know Lord Royce spoke of the possibility of a grain shortage-" She's talking rapidly, as if she wants to talk about anything but the obvious. Anything but her sorrow. 

"Sansa." Jon cuts her off and she blinks, spine a little bit straighter. "Everything is fine. Don't worry about that," he goes on, softening as he pulls up the other chair closer to where hers sits. "Right now... I'm just Jon and you're just Sansa." She stares at him for a long moment before something like relief spreads across her features and into her eyes. 

"Just Sansa..." She says softly, wondering when she had lost that piece of herself. For so long she's been nothing but titles... _Lady Stark, Lady Lannister, Lady Bolton, the Lady of Winterfell, and now Queen in the North..._ Somewhere along the way, she's lost Sansa Stark. "I'd like that." She ventures on with a nod and Jon's smile warms her soul. 

Even just for one night, it would be nice to be just Sansa again. 


	110. A dragon's protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: Can you write a story about Dany sentencing Sansa to Death and trying to force Jon to watch? She found them together. Sansa is pregnant but Dany won't listen. But when she tells Drogon to burn her Rhaegal protects her. Drogon wouldn't fight Rhaegal and Rhaegal just flys off with the two of them. Or something like that.

Fear rushes through her, it is a feeling she will never grow accustomed to, no matter how often she has felt it. She has a lot of time on her hands, locked into her own rooms as she awaits Daenerys’ sentence, a lot of time to reflect on every single moment that has brought her to where she was right then. It was true, though she had sworn to Jon she’d tell no one the truth of his birth, she knew she could not sit idly by while Daenerys Targaryen took the Iron Throne. Not when there was a better candidate right there beneath all of all their noses.

That was why she penned the raven to Cersei. Though she trusted the woman about as much as she trusted the dragon queen, she knew this would be one thing they could agree upon. Daenerys Targaryen could not become queen. Unbeknownst to Cersei, she also wrote to the new Prince of Dorne, hoping he could be swayed to their side. She had little to offer these people, aside from the true heir to the throne and proof of the Targaryen queen’s descent into madness. Had those ravens gone out, she might have already gotten an answer.

But Daenerys had not trusted her (not that she blamed her, Sansa supposes) and had every outgoing letter searched, despite her lack of true right to do so. And so Sansa’s plot had been discovered and she had been slapped with treason, thus resulting in her confinement to her chambers. She feels a bit smug though, thinking back to three days before when Daenerys had caught her and Jon together in his rooms, effectively ending whatever bond she had thought they shared. But even thinking back to Daenerys’ truly shocked face can bring her little comfort for in a few short hours it will be dawn and she has a hunch that is when they will come for her, to draw her out to her death by dragon fire. Suddenly, her stomach lurches and she surges towards the wash basin, throwing up until she can no more. Wiping her mouth, she drops onto her bed, blaming the sickness on the thought of death that looms ahead of her.

And yet… She recalls how the morning before she had been ill and the morning before that as well. She recalls how earlier in that week, she had realized she’d not yet bled that month. Sansa knows what this means, of course. Of all the times to realize she’s with child, Sansa can’t believe it has to be now. Misery runs through her as she falls back against her pillows, burying her face into them, tears threatening to spill over. The night the child was conceived still yet burns fresh in her mind, the night before Jon had left for Dragonstone. A night she had held onto all these long weeks with him gone and then his return with the queen on his arm.

She rolls onto her side and curls up, pressing a hand across the flat plane of her abdomen, knowing well there was a life within her right then and there. A life that would be snuffed out in just a few short hours along with her own. And that is the only reason she begins to cry, soft sobs that steal her breath as she lays in the bed the child was conceived in.

[ x x x ]

“Please, your grace, I beg of you…”

“Begging is most unbecoming of a man, Jon Snow,” Daenerys cuts him off as she pulls on her white fur coat. “Sansa has committed treason against me and truly, she has betrayed your trust by attempting to tell the world of your birth when you asked her not to.” Daenerys does not remind him that she had forbid him from talking about it either, though she wishes to rub it in his face that she had been right all along. Daenerys had never trusted the Lady of Winterfell, with her dark sapphire eyes and icy smile. “She has sealed her own fate.”

It is nearly dawn and Jon knows he’s run out of time, he knows he’s failed. He will lose Sansa this morning but he will not let her go to her death alone. In the privacy of his own rooms, Jon knows he will take the life restored to him so many months ago, because there is no life without Sansa. There is not point to his life if she is not in it. And so he turns to go, to return to his rooms for a few minutes of torture, of waiting to hear the screech of the dragon before he burns Sansa for nothing at all.

“Where are you going, Jon?” Daenerys asks sharply, her voice forcing him back around. “You will come.” He flinches, opening his mouth to protest, but the look Daenerys shoots him tells him if he does not walk himself, he will be dragged by her Dothraki. And so the fight flees from him and he sags, his steps heavy and slow as he follows Daenerys out of the room and into the hall.

They must have locked Arya away, or else he’d have found her out there, fighting to get to Sansa. He imagines her, small and distraught, upending the table and destroying every inch of her room as she too waits to hear the sound of her sister burning.

They make their way down to the courtyard and out the gate, into the wide open field that sits between Winterfell and the forest. Sansa already is there, shackled and placed between two Dothraki. She is pale and shaking, her cloak left behind, and the gown she wears is old and worn. Jon can’t raise his face to look at her- he doesn’t deserve to look her in the face on this morning when she is to lose her life because of him. He’s already decided anyways, he will step into the fire when Drogon burns her. He won’t block the flames from consuming her, but at least they might die together. If nothing else, he will stand beside her even in death.

Drogon and Rhaegal fly overhead and both land a few moments after their mother arrives, though none take notice of Rhaegal’s close proximity not to his mother, but to Jon. “Sansa Stark, you have been found guilty of the crime of treason against your queen.” Daenerys calls out, her voice ringing in the silence of the morning. “You have been sentenced to death for such a crime.” Beside her, Tyrion looks grim, as if torn between remaining silent and speaking up. “Drogon…” The dragon looms over her shoulder, its menacing gaze falling upon Sansa where she stands.

The fear that runs through her is icy cold; she’s never been this close to death before and it’s certainly not the way she ever expected to go. She spares Jon one final glance and only wishes they had more time together. The Dothraki step away, out of the line of fire, and she knows it’s coming. Any one of these moments will be her last. And then she closes her eyes as Daenerys says the word she expects to be the final thing she ever hears: _dracarys_. But instead, she hears the rustle of wings, the crunch of snow beneath racing feet. Her eyes open and there is Jon, standing right in front of her and in front of him is Rhaegal. The dragon growls low and Drogon responds by opening his mouth and shrieking. “Rhaegal, move!” Daenerys commands when she’s shaken off her surprise, but it returns a moment later when Rhaegal instead pins her with his eyes, another growl coming deep from within him.

From where Jon stands, he understands; he doesn’t know how, he doesn’t know why, but he understands all the same. Without warning, he’s scrambling up onto Rhaegal’s back as he has done a few times now, and reaching down for her. “Sansa!” He extends out his hand and she raises hers, still yet chained together, and he pulls her up onto the great scaled back of the dragon. “Hold on!” He bellows as Rhaegal unfurls his wings and takes off into the sky. Sansa is screaming as they fly higher and faster, taking them further and further away from Winterfell, away from danger.

They fly until Rhaegal deems them safe, for he finally lands on the outskirts of the forest, a stream iced over just a few yards away from where they stand. Jon slides down from Rhaegal’s back and then raises his arms to catch her as she too slides down, shaking from fear and cold. He can do nothing but draw her into his tight embrace, hoping his body will be enough to keep her warm. But he knows it won’t be and he knows they will need to seek shelter soon. “Are you alright?” He asks when he draws back, holding her at arm’s length. She is pale and weary, but she nods all the same. “I thought I was truly going to lose you,” he whispers, pulling her back into his embrace for a long moment. It’s then that he pulls his fur cloak from his shoulders and swings it around hers, despite her protest. “Get warm.” Is all he says before he goes to step away, but the touch of her hand to his arm makes him turn back.

“I have to tell you something,” she whispers, shivering in his cloak. Jon clasps his hands with hers and holds fast, his dark eyes finding hers. “I’m with child.” Three simple words that utterly change his world. Three words that change everything. He can’t begin to think about how they had only just come from what would have been her death, their death, as well as their child’s. A child… He can barely believe it. But looking into her eyes, he knows she speaks the truth. And he recalls the night they must have conceived with fond memory.

As if he really needed it, Jon knows he has even more of a reason to protect her. To find her shelter and keep her safe. To keep her warm and to keep her healthy. He will find them somewhere to go, somewhere that she can be protected from even Daenerys Targaryen. Then he will go and fight the final battle, the final war for the throne. If it’s the last thing he does, he will take it from Daernerys if only it meant protecting Sansa. The last thing he wanted was to be King of anything, but if it was for Sansa, he would take any crown or fight any fight. For Sansa, he would lay down his life, no… He would fight even harder to survive. For her, he will fight to live, and for their child too.

They would find happiness at the end of this fight, he would make sure of it.


	111. If only, if only.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt. Drunk Sansa and Jon. Sansa: No one will marry me for love. Jon:I would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another piece in the "orphan jon" series.

Sansa doesn't want to go South.

She doesn't want to marry a prince she does not know, she doesn't want to leave her home. But this is what's expected of a young woman, of a noble young woman from a great house like hers. She doesn't want any of what's to come, but there is nobody in her world that cares much for what she thinks nor what she feels. And while she smiles and nods, while she outwardly agrees with the path she's been set upon, inside she's screaming.

Perhaps this is why she's stolen a jug of wine from the kitchens after dinner and sits alone in her chambers drinking her second goblet. She will be strong and she will do as is expected of her, but here in private, she gives herself the moment to feel sorrow. Or, well, to drown said sorrows. Here in the privacy of her rooms, she can feel however she pleases, without fear of what her mother might say or her father. They love her, she knows, they want what they think is best for her. _You will be a queen, Sansa, _her mother had said only the night before when the betrothal was finalized. _The most beautiful queen Westeros has ever seen_. Sansa had smiled for the compliment but said nothing at all. Her mother had thought her too pleased to speak. If only... if only.

Drowning the goblet of wine, she goes to pour herself a third glass when there comes a knock to her chamber door. Sighing, she stands up, steadying herself on the table for a moment before she walks across the room to the door. She supposes it will be her mother or septa and she'll be in trouble for stealing the wine but the alcohol that already courses through her system gives her a courage she's not known before. But, when she opens her door it isn't her mother or septa standing there. "Jon...." His name is a soft plea upon her lips and though she knows it's improper, she steps back so he might step inside, allowing the door to fall closed behind him.

She's drunk and Jon can't help but to smile in spite of her, but her sapphire eyes are dark with grief, though her face remains impassive. "Pour me a cup, won't you?" He asks, nodding towards the jug of wine on the table she's only just abandoned. It's her turn to smile and she gestures for him to follow after her, returning to the chair she'd once been sitting in, while Jon takes the one opposite her. When she's poured him a goblet of the sweet red wine, she pours herself another and at once puts it to her lips. They fall into silence and Jon can do nothing but gulp dpwn the wine he's been given, knowing that he was running out of chances to speak the truth to her.

In only a few short weeks, Sansa will leave Winterfell to marry the heir and prince of the Iron Throne, Joffrey Baratheon. It's an impressive match, even he knows this, for this marriage will mean Sansa will someday be a queen, though from the way she looks, one would think she wasn't happy about such a thing. "You'll miss me, won't you?" Her sudden question captures his attention and forces his gaze up, only to find she's staring at him with those piercing blue eyes of hers. His cheeks burn with heat and he looks away, unable to face her intense gaze. When he looks back, tears are streaming down her cheeks.

At once, he rises up from his chair, wine goblet discarded so he might come around the table to her side, sinking down until he's at her level. "Yes," he answers her honestly, the pain of knowing she's to leave enough to crush him entirely. Dozens of memories rush through his mind as he looks into her tear filled eyes; the first time he saw her down by the river, vivid red hair tumbling down her back. The night she climbed into his bed and told him the story of Aemon the Dragonknight. Her laughter carrying along the wind in the courtyard as she watches Robb fall into the mud. The feel of her hand against his, the warmth of her smile when she turns to him in the dining hall... Every shoulder brush, every second glance. He's known her nearly all of his life, he's grown up a part of her family ever since that day she brought him home from the river when they were children of five and seven. He owes everything he has to her. "Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle." His words bring a flicker of a smile to her face and he can't help but to reach out, ghosting his fingers along her jawline. How many times have they been here before?

"I want to stay here... I don't want to go, Jon." She whispers, hand reaching up to take hold of his. Her skin burns where his has touched. "I am afraid..." She knows the rumors about Joffrey Baratheon as well as anyone else. "I want to stay in Winterfell."

"You will be a queen, Sansa," Jon begins but she scoffs, shaking her head.

"I would rather be a peasant, if it meant I could marry for love." She whispers, her cheeks warm with her declaration. "But no one will marry me for love, only my name." Sadness clings to her and she lowers her gaze, hands clenched into tight fists atop her lap. Her life had been decided a long time ago- strings of betrothals to boy after boy, until finally, the best one was found. As the princess of Winterfell, the daughter of the North, she could never marry for love. She would always have to do what best benefited her family and house.

"I would."

Perhaps the alcohol has given him courage, or perhaps knowing soon he won't have his chance to tell her has propelled him to speak so candidly to her, but either way his words shock even him. She blinks, looking back up at him, rosy lips parting with her surprise. "Jon..." She says his name so softly, so perfectly... He can't hardly stand it. He can't believe that soon, he won't hear her speak it again. She's leaning in, so close it's as if she means to kiss him, but instead she tips her forehead against his, an act she has done a hundred times in their years together. "Don't let me go there alone." Is what she says instead of what she truly wants to say.

Of course he wouldn't.

When he leaves her rooms a few hours later, she's asleep and he's already made up his mind about what he must do. The next morning, he would go to Lord Stark and make his intentions known; he wished to go to King's Landing with Sansa, to be the captain of her queensguard, to remain beside her forever. He knows he cannot be with her as he truly wishes, but at least... At least he could remain beside her, at least he could protect her from the dangers of the world. And more than anything else... She would not be alone.

As he climbs into his own bed, he thinks back to how it felt to have her hand gripping his, to how his heart had skipped a beat as he stared into her blue eyes. He would give anything to stare into those eyes for the rest of his life, if only possible. If only... If only...

He closes his eyes to dream of her and of a life that could never be theirs.


	112. Kiss the tears right off your face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lyric prompt request: kiss the tears right off your face

It's late and he finds himself unable to sleep.

Another night where he's kept awake by the mere thought of her; she consumes him, heart and soul, and he wonders if she even knows. But of all the women he could fall for... Why did it have to be her? He thinks of her, with her fire kissed hair and her sapphire eyes... The wary smile she only showed to him. It was he that she trusted to keep her safe from the monsters of the world. He was the brother who had not failed her, the brother that had helped her take back what was theirs. She trusted in him and no matter what he felt inside of his heart, he would never betray those feelings. Not now, especially after all she had been through. 

And yet... There was a piece of him that could not fight against it. She had lit a fire within him and it burned so very bright that he was certain it would never die out. Even now, hours later he could feel the ghost of her touch against his hand, could feel the warmth of her slow smile as she softly spoke his name. Sometimes, he couldn't help but to think part of her felt the exact same way that he felt. They way she looked at him with those blue eyes... Eyes that could swallow him whole, eyes that he would willingly drown within. 

Jon knows it's wrong, he knows what they say about those who love their siblings in such an unnatural way. But he can't help it, he can't stop it. If he could push the thoughts and the feelings away, he'd have already done it. But there she is again and again, her presence surrounding him whether he slept or sat up before the fire all night long. 

He's supposing he might lay down when he hears it, the softest knocking upon his chamber door. Ghost is up at once, his ears twitching, red eyes staring straight ahead at the still closed door. It takes Jon only a moment to rise up from where he sits and cross the room, opening the door without a second thought. It's Sansa that's standing there, wrapped in her cloak and pale faced, eyes seeking out his in the darkness. "Sansa..." Her name is upon his lips and he's at once stepping aside, gesturing for her to come into the warmth of his chamber. Worry has begun to course through him, he knows this look upon her face, he's seen it before. 

She doesn't know why she's come to his rooms other than when she's scared, Jon keeps her safe. His arms are the only place she feels whole. "Are you alright?" He asks quietly and she sucks in a breath, blinking fast against the tears already gathering upon her lashes. Was she okay? Such a question was laughable. She hasn't been okay in years. 

At least... Until she found him.

And as if he knows, as if he understands, Jon opens his arms to her and she falls into place into them. He holds fast to her, one hand threading through her red hair, the other pressing into the small of her back. She hates herself for the warmth that pools in her belly- this strange, lustful feeling she feels is for a man she calls brother. A feeling she's never felt about a man in all of her life. But... When Jon holds her like this, every nightmare she's ever had fades away. When Jon holds her like this, she feels true peace, true safety. Jon is the only man who's never let her down, who's protected her as he always said he would. If only they could have stayed right there forever. "I had a nightmare," is all she can whisper before she buries her face into the crook of his neck, to feel his pulse beat against her cheek. 

When a few moments have passed, Jon pulls back, though the gap that remains between them is minimal at best. His hand is warm at her waist, the other sliding from her hair to her cheek. His fingertips ghost across her jaw, leaving fire in their wake. She catches her lower lip between teeth, the breath catching in her throat as their eyes meet. In this moment, it's as if they understand one another perfectly. And thats when Jon leans in, a hairsbreadth of space between his lips and her skin. The taste of her tears cling to his lips even when he draws back a moment later and he finds he longs to kiss more than just the tears from her cheeks. All this time... He's been so frightened of the feelings growing deep within his heart, but standing there, looking into her eyes... He knows the truth of her heart as well as his own. His fear fades as he leans in once again, this time capturing her mouth with his own.

The kiss breaks and she's so close that he can feel the curve of her lips as she smiles. She's so very close and he never wants to let her go. 

And he might not. 


	113. The heavy truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the lyric request: a heavy truth, a sweet divide & living in winter, i am your summer

The truth fell between them, keeping them apart; she feels so far from him that it's as if her hand cannot reach him. A heavy truth, a sweet divide, a broken soul. He looks at her as if he's never been more lost, as if he's never been whole. All around them the snow falls, soft white flurries that coat their hair, coat their skin. Sansa shivers. "It is as I've always told you," he speaks again, his voice a thread, a rasping broken sound that breaks her heart into thousands of pieces. "I'm not a Stark." 

"Yes, you are," she answers without hesitation, stepping closer, bridging that gap between them. Her body is warm as it brushes against his, reminding him of the summer sun. Suddenly, the space between them felt minimal, felt nonexistent. "You are a Stark as much as I am." Her hand reaches for his, her skin warm despite the gloves between their palms. "Look at me," she speaks sharp, her words forcing him to raise his gaze up to hers. His dark colored Stark eyes are swimming with emotion and she longs to provide him with any sort of comfort that she can. "It matters not who your father was, you are still a Stark. You're one of us, part of the pack." 

It takes several moments, but a small, oh so small, smile blooms upon his lips. "When the snows fall..." He raises his free hand up, catching snowflakes in his palm. "And the white winds blow..." 

It's Sansa's turn to smile. "The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.” She finishes the words her father, _their_ father had spoken hundreds of times through their childhoods. The words their little pack would live by for the rest of their lives. "But summer will come again." She goes on with a strong, confident nod. "We're living in winter, but I'll be your summer." Her words draw another smile from his lips and it's a moment later that he's drawing her into his strong, warm embrace. There in the snow covered godswood, he takes her into his arms and holds on tight, a further reminder of the love in his heart, in his life.

It was as she said, they lived in winter's cold grasp, but she would be his warm summer touch. 


	114. Hold onto me like someone broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the lyric prompt request: you were holding onto me like someone broken

In the aftermath of it all, he can only find solace in her arms. 

Even now, hours later, he can hear the screams of the terrified and the dying. He can still yet picture the children as they burned, little souls taken by a cruel queen's intent. It's almost too much for him to take. But then she tightens her grip upon him, her warm hands tracing his spine or touching his hair, reminding him of the softness left in this world. He had done it all for her, after all. The thought of her alone had kept him going through the fight, forcing him on even when he wished to runaway. She has always been that light just out of his reach, the single reason that kept him going no matter the circumstances. It had been Sansa to breathe new life, new purpose, back into him in the wake of his murder by his own brothers in black. It had been Sansa who calmed his angry heart, who stilled his shaking hands with a touch of her own. While she fought her own demons, she fought his, too. 

He wonders if she too thinks back to the time he had once held her in such a way. Back when she had first come to him from Ramsay Bolton, back when she had been nothing but a ghost of the girl he'd called sister. How many nights had she crawled into his bed, needing his touch? How many times had he sank into a chair and drew her into his embrace, the only thing that kept her from falling apart. She had always held onto him like someone entirely broken, but now it was he who held onto her. Like a man broken, he held onto her, the only real thing left in his world. 

It's the simple thought of her that makes him draw away from where he's buried his face into the softness of her red hair. She's settled upon his lap, hand covering his, allowing him as much time as he needed to just sit there with her. She's spoken almost no words since she arrived and it's only because words are not needed. Not yet. But now, he suddenly must look into her sapphire eyes, he needs to feel her cheeks between his palms, needs to hear the softness of her voice when she speaks his name. And he gets just that. "Jon..." His name is soft like a prayer and his lips curve into the smallest of smiles at the sound of it. He slides his hands into place on either side of her face, a stray lock of hair tickling the back of his hand. Their eyes meet and her blue gaze is soft, unlike the steely eyes he's seen so often these last few weeks. 

Jon can't say what it is that makes him do what he does next, but he kisses her. It's sweet and slow, a kiss that speaks more than his words ever could. When he draws back, its only so he might dip his forehead against hers, smiling when he feels her hand against his thigh. "You save me," his words are a rasping confession, voice raw from smoke and tears. "I am lost without you." He feels so utterly transparent, as if she can see right through him. But hadn't she always? 

"Then let me lead your way." Sansa speaks so softly that he thinks for a moment he's only imagined her words. Her mouth brushes his, a fleeting kiss, but it warms him from the inside out. "Let me lead you home." Home. It was all he could ever ask for. Home would never be King's Landing, home would never be here in the South. It was the North, it was Winterfell, it was her. 


	115. No one but you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the request; Can I requst for one where Jon comes back with Dany to WF only to hear how Sansa has either take on a lover (this is fake obvs and is just a misunderstanding) and gets super jelly at any guy talking to her. Would be really great if they end up having hot sexy times at the end. Sorry but possessive Jon is my jam LOL.

> He hates that he's jealous, but he can't help it. He can't stop it.
> 
> It's been three days since his return from Dragonstone with Daenerys and while he should be focused on the important things (white walkers, the Night King, the impending war for the Iron Throne, are the first things that come to mind) and yet, all he can think about is the rumor he's been told.
> 
> Jon knows he has no right to be angry, to be upset, but he can't help it. He can't stop the anger that floods through him when he thinks of her on the arm of another man. He can't even begin to think about what it would mean if she found another man- he's been gone all these weeks, he supposes he can't blame her, and yet... He's jealous. He's angry. He wants her all to himself and with the damned dragon queen always on his arm, he's barely been able to share even a private moment with Sansa. And the one moment they did have together, they argued. Jon can't blame her for that, either, he knows what this looks like to the outside world.

* * *

Standing out on the battlements, Jon sighs, the air escaping him in a cloud of white. It's grown even colder in the few days since his return, the snows that fall blanket the frozen wasteland that has become the North. Down below comes the call of the men as they work tirelessly to prepare Winterfell for the battle that is to come any day. They dig trenches that they will fill with oil to set ablaze, to keep the walkers away from the castle walls. They train relentlessly in the field behind Winterfell, preparing for the battle they must soon face. Boys as young as twelve fight with swords in their small hands, while the girls gather in chambers to sew leather to the armor, to prepare healing herbs at the instruction of the maesters. They all have a part to play and at the moment, Jon is the only one avoiding his.

His attention is momentairly diverted by catching sight of that vivid red hair he loves so much. Sansa walks through the courtyard on the arm of a tall, young man he knows to be Harry Hardyng from the Vale. They make a handsome couple, or so everyone says, and a tremor of jealousy flows through him when he sees Sansa lean in and laugh at something Harry is saying. Jon has heard through the servants that Harrold Hardyng came to Winterfell just after his own departure for Dragonstone. He also knows that Sansa had briefly met the man in the Vale, before her marriage to Ramsay Bolton.

He watches as they stroll the rest of the way through the courtyard and up the steps and out of sight back inside Winterfell. He stares for several long moments at where she had once stood until finally he pries himself from the railing and heads down the walkway and down the stairs until he too stands in the courtyard, among the men where he belongs.

[ x x x ]

The knock on his door comes as a surprise.

It's late, so late that the rest of the palace surely must sleep, though Jon remains awake in his chambers in front of the hearth. Ghost raises his head from his paws, a short bark of recognition escaping him at the sound of the knock. He knows at once who will be there at his door and when he crosses the room to open the door, his heart is beating wildly in his chest. "Sansa." He greets at the sight of her there in his doorway, still fully dressed in her black gown, though her hair tumbles down her back, free from its usual braids.

He steps back, allowing her inside, and at once Ghost is beside her, begging for pets and attention. She sinks low enough to wrap her arms around his shaggy neck and Jon can't help but to smile at the sight. He would give anything in the world to keep this moment forever, to freeze time and just watch her with Ghost, a smile on her rosy lips. "You've been avoiding me." She speaks suddenly, rising up from the floor as she turns to pin him with her sapphire gaze. He chokes, sputtering over denial, shaking his head. "You_ have _been." She confirms, brushing a stray lock of red hair from her face; Jon's fingers twitch, he longs to run them through the silken strands.

"You've been busy," he quips back, unable to stop himself. The familiar sensation of jealousy twists in his stomach as she takes a step closer to him and he wonders if she's just come from seeing him.

She laughs, a cold, hardened sound that doesn't match her. "Yes, so busy with running the kingdom you've given away." Yes, there's that anger of hers again. He knows he deserves it. He knows she owes him a lot more than her angry words. "Do you avoid me because you love her?" He's heard this question before- or something that had meant the same thing. He recalls the last private meeting they'd had, when she had asked him if he'd bent the knee for the North or for love. He hadn't had the chance to answer her, they had been interrupted, but he longs to tell her the truth. He longs to tell her the words he's felt in his heart since those days so long ago at Castle Black. Wrong or not, Jon knows what he feels for her goes beyond the love of a brother. "Or does she tell you to? Does your queen command you to stray from your family?" She can't stop the last words that fall from her lips, her anger and jealousy spilling over in one final question.

"You seem quite preoccupied with your own affairs," Jon snaps, unable to stop himself, though he regrets the words once they've fallen from his lips. Sansa blinks, her mouth falling open only to close again, surprise written all over her face. "Harrold Hardyng seems to be the center of your attention these days." She doesn't speak, but her eyes narrow in anger, her mouth a thin line as she takes a single step closer to where he stands. They are mere inches apart now.

"Are you jealous?" She asks, her voice a whisper of smoke, her eyes suddenly smoldering in a way he's never seen before. "Does it bother you to see me upon the arm of another man?" She can't help but to smirk when Jon tightens his jaw, a fist clenching into a fist at his side, both obvious signs of the truth. She supposes she should be happier, knowing Jon was indeed jealous, giving her a little bit more proof that Jon was smarter than he let on. That him giving up the North had been for more than just a pretty Targaryen queen. "Do you imagine what they whisper of us?" Sansa knows the rumors of her and Harry, though she laughs about them, knowing how far from truth they are. There's no man she thinks of besides the one that stands in front of her. She's leaning in, closer now, her lips hovering just a hairsbreadth over his. "In your rooms, late at night... Do you imagine me with him?" He imagines a whole lot more than that.

Jon sucks in a breath, hyper aware of the tightness of his breeches, of the fire seeping into his blood. Does she even know what she does to him? His hands are in her hair now, unable to stop himself from touching her, feeling her. She's warm, warmer than any fire, than any fur cloak. "I imagine you with me," he rasps, his words bringing a chuckle from her lips. "I know it's wrong, Sansa but I..." She silences him with a kiss.

It's a long kiss, a warm kiss, a passionate one. One of his hands stays tangled in her long red locks while the other traces the outline of her body until it reaches her hip, snaking around to press into the small of her back. "I imagine me with you, too," she whispers when she breaks the kiss, somewhat breathless as she smiles. "But I thought..."

_I thought you loved her... I thought we could never be._

The unspoken words settle between them and Jon tugs her in close. "There's no one but you." He speaks honestly, truthfully, saying the words he knew he should have said before. Jon pulls back so he might look her in the face, the hand that was once tangled in her hair now cupping her cheek. For a long moment, there is silence, but there are no words that need to be said right now. Jon leans in to capture her mouth with his, a soft kiss that weakens her knees and warms her cheeks.

When he breaks the kiss, she speaks, soft words that echo in his spinning mind. "I don't want to imagine anymore, Jon." Those are the only words he's needed to hear. He's kissing her again, a deeper kiss, and her response is to grab a fistful of his shirt, tugging him closer. Her tongue meets with his in the most delicious of ways and Jon trails his other hand along her body, relishing in her soft curves and warm skin he can feel between the layers of her clothes. She lets out the most arousing whimper when he pulls back, though this time its to take her by the hand and lead her towards his bed.

Undressing her is a slow process- mostly for her sake, but partly for his own. He wants to savor every moment with her as much as he wants her to feel comfortable in anything that they do. She turns her back to him, giving him access to the laces of her gown, which he slowly unlaces while she glances at him over a shoulder. When she turns back around, the gown slips over her shoulders, revealing to him the expanse of her milky white shoulders. Inch by inch, she lets the gown slide from her body until its a puddle of cloth at her feet. Standing there in just her chemise, she blushes beneath his gaze, uncertain and shy in a moment such as this, which was just as enticing to him as her previous confidence had been.

Once again he takes her by the hand and draws her down onto the bed, following after her only once he's shed his shirt to the floor, where it joins her discarded gown. She lays against his pillow, red hair a fan beneath her head, blue eyes staring up at him as she smiles. Jon knows he loves her so beyond anything in this world, he knows he would do anything for her. Anything. Leaning over her, he captures her mouth and hopes, prays, wishes, that every unspoken thing between them is understood with that single kiss. Drawing back several moments later, her blue eyes are dark and damp, telling him that his message had reached her.

This time when he kisses her, he doesn't intend to stop. 


	116. Taming the wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L❤️ VE your writing!! If you’re feeling up for it, I have a prompt that I am pretty sure will happen in canon, and I want you to give GRRM a run for his money. Jon wargs into Ghost following his murder and comes back extremely feral, and Sansa, upon reaching the wall, tries to tame him.

Though the wildlings and those in the Night's Watch that remained loyal to Jon welcomed her among them with open arms, she felt lonely. With Jon not here... With Jon... No, she thinks, blinking back to tears that gather on her lashes, I can't think about it. Right now, it's easier to ignore it, it's easier to pretend that all is well here at Castle Black.

She sits in the chambers she's been given- nice enough chambers, well lit and warm. Brienne has gone down to the kitchens to get her some bread and butter so she might eat something. Sansa knows she must eat, but sorrow and pain keep her appetite at a minimum. The fire crackles in the hearth, the only noise beyond the sound of the wind that howls outside her window. A snow storm had struck up the night before and despite living in the North for most of her life, even she had never experienced a cold such as this.

But then comes a commotion from the courtyard outside.

Sansa rises up from where she sits, crossing the room to peer out the frosted glass, where she sees a gathering of men below. Turning, she snatches up the furs Tormund had given her that first night, Jon's black furs from the Night's Watch, and darts out of the room, passing Brienne who calls out to her as she disappears around the hall. She rushes out into the falling snow, draped in the furs, approaching Tormund and Edd where they stand among the rest of the men. "A wolf!" A near hysterical man is shouting, his fur cap askew on his wind blown hair. He's frantic, hands gesturing out the open gate he's just come running through, his clothing torn from what had to be claws. "A great big, white wolf! So quiet, like a ghost he came through the storm!"

Her eyes widen at the words the man says, surprise rushing through her as she realizes exactly what this man is saying. Before another word is spoken, she's rushing past the men, ignoring Tormund's call of "little Lady" has he's come to affectionately call her. She runs out through the open gate, out into the snowy wilderness that lies just beyond Castle Black. She and Brienne had only just come through these woods some days ago and now, she's running back into them.

Slowing to a walk, Sansa can't quite say what leads her down the path she takes, but it's almost as if her feet already know the way. Then sure enough, pacing just beneath a tree, white as the snow on the ground is a huge, white wolf. Ghost raises his head at the sound of her approaching footsteps and at once, he's barring his teeth. Her heart is hammering hard within her chest, a single hand outstretching towards the wolf she approaches. He's snarling now, snapping those dangerous jaws, his red eyes never once straying from her face. "Ghost..." She whispers, fingers shaking with fear, with anticipation, with worry. "It's me, it's Sansa..." She recalls petting the white wolf as a child, of seeing him wrestle with Grey Wind, of never straying far from Jon's side. She knows this wolf, even if he doesn't know her. And she supposes if she's to die, she'd rather it be by a wolf than a monster.

_Sansa..._

That name is familiar.

Jon, somewhere inside of the wolf's brain, clicks back awake. At once, the snarling ceases, and Sansa is surprised when the wolf promptly sits upon his hunches._ Sansa... Is that really you? _Jon wonders as he sees the young woman through the wolf's eyes. Sure enough, there's that vibrant red hair he recalls from childhood, though gone was the younger sister he knew, replaced with a pale faced, young woman. He wishes she knew it was him, he wishes he was there to comfort her, because now that she's closer, he sees how sad she looks. How alone she must be, without him there.

The wolf snaps again, this time as her hand inches closer, almost able to touch his snout._ He does not know me... _She thinks, sadly, _but I don't know me either, not anymore_. Hesitantly, her fingertips touch down upon the wet, dark nose. He's barring his teeth but she continues on, gingerly sweeping her fingers up his snout to the soft tuft of hair between his eyes. Her pulse is thumping madly in her ears, her heart racing so fast she swears it will burst from her chest. As her touch moves further up, the growling lessens, the teeth disappearing from sight.

_Take care of her, Ghost..._ Jon thinks as he drifts back to the darkness of death, knowing his time warging into Ghost was coming to an end. He knows now, this was his reason to be able to do so after being stabbed. He was meant to ensure Sansa was safe, that she would have protection in this world even with him and their brothers, their father, gone.

As she draws her hand back, the wolf bumps his head into her palm, a short bark emitting from the wolf rather than a growl. Sansa holds her breath, rubbing her hand against the wolf's ear, releasing the breath a moment later when the wolf's tail thumps the frozen ground in a strange sort of greeting. Somehow, she understands. "Let's go back, Ghost." She says to the wolf, turning back to return in the direction she's just come from. It takes a moment, but Ghost trails along after her, back towards the gates of Castle Black.

Something tells her everything is about to change.


	117. The queen's health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post season 8 Sansa threw all her efforts in managing the north after the wars in order to escape from the loneliness of being alone in Winterfell with her family scattered. It reach the point of unhealthyness and maester Wolkan, the lords and the smallfolks know that this can continue. So they send a letter to former KitN Jon Snow who rushes to WF to rescue Sansa. Because everyone one knows that these two are truly happy when they are besides each other.

"Your grace?"

She's so focused on the work at hand, she doesn't at first hear the voice in her doorway. It isn't until maester Wolkan speaks once again that she looks up, blue eyes widening slightly as she smiles an apology. "I'm sorry for interrupting," the old maester begins once he's given her a bow and a smile of his own. "Lord Royce bade me check on you," he continues as he takes a single step closer to where she sits behind her desk, pale and drawn, looking quite like a girl he's not seen in many months. In well over a year, now that he thinks about it. "I really must insist that you return to your chambers for a rest."

The young queen smiles again, setting aside the parchment she'd been reading when the maester had come into her solar. "I am quite well, I assure you," she replies, her tone leaving no room for argument. The maester bites his lower lip, frowning, as if he's attempting to find the confidence to indeed argue with his queen.

He does not.

When he's gone, Sansa releases a long sigh, leaning back in her chair, hands folding in her lap. She doesn't blame her lords to worry after her- Lord Royce is often insisting on her taking it easy, on giving him more things to do, often telling her she is a young queen in the first year of her reign and she should be enjoying it. But in truth... There is little enjoyment for her in all of this. Her crown, her kingdom, it all felt hollow without Jon, without her family. She's alone again, as she had been for so long, the pieces of her family strewn across Westeros. Why, Arya was worlds away, perhaps lost to her forever, or so she often worries at night when she cannot sleep.

The truth is, she throws herself into her work, into the running of her kingdom, because it keeps the pain away. It keeps her thoughts from straying to the pain in her heart, though at night when she is alone without her work, it comes tenfold. She can tell you the ache of loneliness is unlike anything else- she would know, after all. Sansa can't help but to feel somewhat bitter at the hand she's been dealt. After everything she's been through, after everything she's done to get here... She almost wishes she hadn't. She almost wishes to go back to the days before Jon had ever gone to Dragonstone, before he had ever brought Daenerys Targaryen to Westeros.

Back then, when the only fight had been their demons and Ramsay Bolton. Back then, when she could slip into his warm bed after a nightmare, knowing he would hold her until she felt safe again. Back then, when he would focus his wild eyed gaze upon her, lost in the memories of betrayal, needing only the touch of her hand to come back to the present. Back then... It hadn't been easy, but at least they'd been together.

She sighs, brushing the tears from her cheeks, wondering just when she had begun to cry.

[ x x x ]

"Well we must do _something_," Lord Royce says, looking from the faces at the table around him. He's gathered in his antechamber the first lords of the North, as well as maester Wolkan, all so they might discuss what to do with their queen. These men, including himself, he supposes, are quite opposed to upsetting her, but it was becoming to grow worrisome. "She's going to work herself to death."

Those are the words that do the trick and at once, everyone is nodding their assent, a few of them voicing "hear, hear." But, there's not one of them in the room who know how to force their queen to listen, for what man could ever tame a wolf? Their she-wolf queen certainly was a force to be reckoned with, though there were few men brave enough to try. And the foreign diplomats that had tried certainly walked out of the conversations with their tails between their legs. "But what do we do for her?" Alys Karstark asks, the only woman among them since the loss of Lyanna Mormont. This young woman rarely strays from her queen's side and she's proud of the relationship she's developed with her. "She doesn't listen to anybody."

No one has an answer.

"I know who she'll listen to."

They all turn at the sound of a voice and it is Brienne of Tarth who stands there, perhaps the most trusted of all of Sansa's court. "Go on then, Ser Brienne," Lord Royce speaks honorably, this woman is the captain of the queensguard, beloved by their queen, and respected by all who know her. "Tell us who our queen will listen to, if it is not any of us."

"Jon Snow."

Everyone around the table exchanges a quick glance. "But he is... Banished..." Lord Royce now speaks somewhat uncomfortably, shifting his weight on his chair. It was not that any of them believed Jon Snow to be guilty of a crime, but rather, their queen had been quite adamant about his fate. _I cannot force Jon home, queen or not, I will not command him to my side if he doesn't wish to be here._

"Our queen is lonely, that is what plagues her so. And if I know him, Jon Snow too must be brooding over her at Castle Black." Brienne thinks of how Sansa cries herself to sleep at night when she thinks no one is listening and she can't do that again. "Send him word that she is nearly ill without her family. He will come, you'll see, and she will be happy again." The room is quiet for a long moment before one by one, they all begin to nod.

Their queen's happiness is all that matters.

[ x x x ]

"A letter, little crow."

Jon is surprised and his heart skips a beat. A letter for him, after all this time, all the way here at the wall? He takes the parchment from Tormund with a quick word of thanks, swinging his legs back over the bench he had just been about to get up from. The wax seal is not Sansa's, nor any other one he knows, surprising him even more. He's received only one letter since his arrival, one which he keeps tucked into his shirt every single day.

He breaks the seal and unfolds the letter, taking in the unfamiliar handwriting that is scrawled across the page in several, hasty lines.

_Jon,_

_I write on behalf of the queen, who will not do this herself.   
Please come back home to her. Please, she is the most unhappy of queens, all alone here in Winterfell. She will admit it to no one, but she is lonely and she is sad. We have tried and tried to rouse her from her melancholy, but it seems we are not what she needs. She needs her family, she needs you. Please, come back to Winterfell before she brings illness to herself, or worse._

_Yohn Royce_

Jon is on his feet before he's finished the letter and he's springing from over the bench as he shoves it into his shirt. "Little crow?" Tormund asks from where he's sat on the other side, spooning soup into his mouth.

"I have to go," is all Jon can say, turning back to face Tormund, brown eyes meeting blue.

Tormund grins. "I'll keep watch."

Jon smiles back and then is gone, rushing out into the snow with a whistle, knowing somewhere out there Ghost will hear. Sure enough just as he's crossing the courtyard to the stables, he hears the howl. Taking to his horse, he rides through the gates, uncaring of packing belongings, his only thought her. His thoughts have always been of just her. It's the only way he's made it through these long, grueling months of finding peace with himself for all that's happened.

Now he will have to make peace with what he's done to her by leaving her alone.

[ x x x ]

_Knock, knock, knock._

"Come in," she calls without looking up from the letter she reads, a letter that had come only that evening from Dorne. "Lord Royce, did you hear yet about-" she stops as she lifts her gaze from the words written, shock coursing through her body like a lightning strike. "Jon..." She barely dares to whisper his name for surely, he's not standing there. Surely, this is fever dream, a hallucination from working too hard. Perhaps maester Wolkan had been right, perhaps she was working too hard.

But then she rubs her eyes and he's still standing there. Then she blinks and he's still standing there. "My queen." Jon speaks quietly, his familiar vocals filling her with a warmth she could never explain. She's on her feet then, coming around the front of the desk she sat behind just as he crosses the space between them, dropping to his knees before her. Though she tries to force him back up, he shakes his head and unsheathes Longclaw, offering her fealty as his Queen in the North, the one true queen he would always serve. That he would always love. "Forgive me, for being away so long." He says when he looks back up at her from where he sits on his knees, a slow smile spreading over his lips. She's torn between crying and laughing, her rosy lips trembling as they smile upon him.

The moment he's on his feet again, she's in his arms.

"How?" She keeps asking, over and over, her voice somewhat muffled from where she's buried her face into his shoulder. Jon gently pries her from him, just so he might get a better look at her, his fingers sliding into place beneath her face. She's pale faced, tired, no... She's exhausted. Jon has seen this look before, this haunted, hollow gaze she's looking at him with. It is as Lord Royce had said, she was working herself certainly to death, if she did not stop soon. He's done this to her, he knows, and at once guilt rushes through him. "How are you here?" Her question draws him back and he smiles, leaning in to tilt his forehead against hers, just breathing her in.

Somehow, she already knows the answer.

"Say you will stay..." She whispers, blue eyes filling with fresh tears as Jon gives a nod, knowing not even the Gods themselves could take him from her now. When he nods, she smiles though the tears flow, and he draws her into his arms once again.

He was home. 


	118. you're my hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: What if after pummeling Ramsay's face to a pulp, Jon lets out a shout grieving for his failure to save his little brother and then collapsing because of fatigue and exhaustion. He is covered in mud and sweat and blood and tears. He wakes up in a tub of warm water with Sansa scrubbing him clean. This is the first time Sansa actually sees his scars. Jon asks why Sansa is here cleaning him, and then apologizing for not being fast enough to save Rickon.

She can't look away.

Every punch, every strike, she can't look away.

It isn't until he lifts his face and as if he senses her presence, raises his gaze to meet hers, his fist drawn back as if he means to hit Ramsay one final time. But that fist falls and the cry he lets out is all pain, all grief. Jon pulls back from where Ramsay lays, broken and beaten, bleeding there in the dirt as he deserves. She watches as he staggers up to his feet, one single step bringing him closer to where she stands now. But he won't make it.

So she does.

Sansa reaches him just as his knees give way and she sinks beneath the weight of him, calling out to the nearest man for help. "Take him to the Lord's rooms." She says softly, relenting her grip on his body only when Edd and Tormund approach. "As for him..." She trails off, rising up to her feet to stare down at the man that lays at her feet. "Take him in chains." She turns to watch the two men carry Jon back towards Winterfell, following close behind, knowing exactly what she must do.

"Bring the bath." She commands of the first maid that enters Jon's rooms, a young woman she recognizes as the one who had brought her meals when she had once lived here with Ramsay. When the woman has gone and Jon has been deposited upon the bed, she stands beside him for several long moments, torn between crying for his safety or screaming for the loss of Rickon. No, she's resolved herself against Rickon's death long ago, there was no pain left to had. Now, it was just them.

When the tub is brought in and the first three jugs of hot water is dumped into it, she waves away the maids who offer their help, and instead just ask for the tub to be filled as high as it can be. Then, yet again, they're left alone. For a moment she wonders if it's wrong of her to do this, but looking upon him, she sees nothing but dirt and blood and knows it's what's best for him. And so with her soft encouragement, she helps him sit up and one by one, she strips him of his clothes.

Her eyes linger on the scars- one in particular, it's proof of his death some weeks before- and all she can do is trace her fingers along them, reminding herself that at least he's alive. At least he's here with her now.

Slipping her arm beneath his shoulders, she helps him onto his feet and together, slowly, they cross the room to where the steaming tub now sits. It smells of lavender and she urges him softly to step one leg over the edge and then as if the warm, sweet smelling water takes control, he sinks into the depths with relative ease. Though water sloshes over the edge, soaking her skirts, she cares not. Instead, she takes hold of the soap that the maids have brought and begins to wash each of his wounds, each of his limbs. One by one, starting with his arms, she ensures that every wound is cleaned, that every last ounce of blood and grime is washed away.

_Warm... Warm water..._

Slowly, Jon is coming back to the waking world.

When he opens his eyes, Sansa is gently dabbing at a sword wound to his left arm, her ocean colored eyes focused on her task at hand. "Sansa..." Her name upon his lips is everything. He's realizing now that he's within Winterfell, he's... He's won. But at what cost? At once Rickon is there, a reminder of his failure. A glimmer of his smile, of that childlike wonder. A boy who will never grow into a man. A brother he's failed. "I'm sorry..." He whispers, tears stinging in his eyes as he pulls his arm from her grasp, quite certain he does not deserve her warm, tender touch. "I couldn't... I couldn't save him." He's broken into pieces, thinking of the little brother who now must be buried within the crypts. "I don't deserve this."

To his surprise, she grabs his arm back from the water, again working at ensuring the wound upon it was clean. "You never were going to save him, Jon." She says softly and when she's finished, she allows his arm to sink back into the warm water. "But you saved me. You saved the North." She smiles gently, sadly, raising her gaze to meet his. "You're my hero." Like from a storybook she might have read as a child, he was her shining white knight, the only one to keep his promise to her. They had lost Rickon, Robb, Bran, and even Arya.... They had lost their parents, but they had not lost one another. If nothing else, they had each other.

Perhaps he's too weak to argue, or perhaps he understands what she says, so he remains quiet. He allows her to clean his wounds, his body, until the water is murky and cold. Only then does she help him from the tub, a sheet warmed by the fire wrapped around him. She helps him to the bed, one which has been changed in the time since they've arrived, the furs draped across the bed ones that her own mother had sewn long, long ago. When he's comfortably settled in the bed, she sits herself at his bedside, knowing she would not leave his side until he rose up from the bed all on his own. Jon had gone to war for her and won, it was the least she could do.

He drifts off to sleep, but not before he reaches for her hand, holding to it tightly.

She was all he had left and he would hold onto her forever.


	119. the king needs no bride... yet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sansa fending off Jon's lady suitors asking for his hand because of his birthright. She knows Jon does not want to be troubled by marriages right now. Could be Sansa vs. Margaery vs. Dany

"A letter, my lady."

Sansa looks up from where she sits at the desk in Jon's solar, more like hers these days, though Jon hangs around much like a shadow. In fact, right then he's settled into the window seat that overlooks the center courtyard- a window which he knows he can see her rooms window from- with Ghost napping at his feet. "A letter?" Jon inquires when Lord Royce has stepped from the room with a quick bow in their direction. Jon may be the King in the North and recognized as the true heir to the Seven Kingdoms, but the Lords of the North respect their Lady of Winterfell as if she were the queen. And she would be, if she would only accept it, though that is a matter for another moment's thought. "You've already received three this morning." He observes, rising up from where he sits, disturbing Ghost so he might come to stand just behind where she sits at the desk. "Who's it from?" He lowers himself onto the corner of the desk, leaning in as she flashes a grin before breaking the seal she already recognizes.

"The Tyrell's." She replies after reading the first several lines of soft, flowing script. "They too have a bride to offer the _rightful King of the Iron Throne._" This is the third letter that's arrived upon her desk this week in regards to a potential marriage, a potential ally in the form of Westeros' most powerful families. "Margaery's grandmother, Olenna, of course offers her granddaughter so we might secure an alliance." Margaery Tyrell had once been Sansa's only friend in all of King's Landing- she had taken her place beside Joffrey and managed to survive. She married Tommen Baratheon afterwards- she was still yet Queen of the Iron Throne, even with a boy as her husband. Tommen would die two months into the marriage, brokenhearted they said by the mess with his mother and the High Sparrow, he threw himself from a window.

Sansa would never wish harm upon a child, but she wishes she had been there to see Cersei's face when she learned of her son's death. All of her children were lost to her and Sansa wonders what she lives for now, beyond claiming the Iron Throne as her own.

Jon rolls his eyes at her words, lips curving into a frown, bringing another smile to Sansa's. "The Tyrell's would be a powerful ally to your cause," she reminds him, though no one really needs reminded of the wealth that family controls. "But fear not, I know how you feel." She goes on, reaching out to gently pat his knee. What she doesn't say is that she's happy he's so adamant about not marrying. "I will handle the Tyrell's as I've handled all the others." Jon knows he can trust her to handle any issue without fail, how she manages to run things so smoothly he'll never quite understand. She's opinionated and firm, yet understanding and sympathetic; her people love her, perhaps more than she realizes.

"You are, without a doubt, the best," he leans in enough to press a kiss against the top of her head, which stains her cheeks pink in the most adorable of ways. "I have a council meeting, will you join us?" He asks and she blinks, perhaps surprised by the invitation, for this was a meeting about far more than just the North. "I would like to hear your thoughts on a few matters, I mean..." He goes on, grinning somewhat sheepishly, reaching up a hand to run through his unruly curls.

After a moment, she nods and rises up from where she sits, smiling when Jon offers her his arm to take. Looping hers through his, they make their way out of the room and down the hall to the main stairwell, which of course leads them down to the center hall, where at the end is the great hall where every meal, every meeting, takes place. "Afternoon, my lords," Jon greets as they sweep into the room, finding their places at the head table. "The Lady of Winterfell will sit in with us today." Their is no objection of course and more than one Lord would later say how their King and their Lady ruled well together, looking like an impressive couple behind that head table. In fact, there would be many who might even say they look quite like the late Eddard and Catelyn Stark. " Now the first matter there is to speak of is the white walker spotted..." Jon begins and thus, the council meeting begins.

In her chair beside Jon's, Sansa reminds herself to reply to the Tyrell letter before she retires for the even, her usual response already in the back of her head. Until the matter of the Night King and his army is finished, the King will remain unmarried. It offers the receiver proof that Jon Snow will be a king who seeks peace, who will fight for his kingdom, as they watch him fight for the North now against the Night King.

As Sansa had watched him fight for her. 


	120. promises kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S7 AU, Jon demands to be brought to Winterfell first before sailing to King's Landing for the Dragonpit parley. He needs to see his lady wife. This way, he will remain King in the North indefinitely without bending the knee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a companion piece to chapter 51 from my stories of fire & ice collection.

Laying there in his bed, with the dragon queen's violet eyes peering down at him, Jon knows things must change. Like the shifting winds of a winter storm, he must bend and twist to this woman's whims if he wishes to survive. This is a queen who's dangerous all her own- but to mix in the loss of her dragon, creatures she refer to as her children, makes her even more so. Grief wears her down and Jon can see it.

He knows what he must do.

When she slips her hand into his, he gives it a gentle squeeze back, as if it means something to have her hand in his. "We could do it together," she urges softly, almost urgently, almost as if she truly cares. They're both liars, he and this damned dragon queen.

"I can't do it without seeing my family." He says after a moment, daring to speak these words only when he rubs his thumb across her knuckles, as Sansa had once done to him. It conveyed a message that words never could- it had been true for him and now it's evident that it's true for Daenerys, too. "My sister, my brother, I must see them, Dany." His use of her nickname- one only her brother ever used- softens her. "I thought them dead all these years, I can't sail past Winterfell without stopping first." He longs to see Arya and Bran, of course, the little siblings he truly had thought lost to him. But... Sansa... He _needs_ to see her, to hold her, to hear her soft voice speak his name in the darkness of his chambers. Jon clings to her hand, wishing the pale, soft skin belonged to Sansa instead. "Please."

After a long moment, Daenerys lets out the breath she's been holding, only so she might nod. "One night and then we must ride for King's Landing." She rules from his bedside and Jon breathes a sigh of relief, clutching her hand a little tighter in a silent gesture of thanks. "I should let you rest," she says after several long moments and she rises up from the chair which she's occupied all these hours. "Sleep well, Jon Snow." Daenerys smiles down at him and for a split second, she's a normal woman, but then it fades and he can see the fire that burns in her violet colored eyes.

A fire that frightens him.

[ x x x ]

The feast takes far too long and Jon is nearly bursting with anticipation when he returns to his rooms that night after arriving.

It has been an all day event, this celebration of the King in the North's return from Dragonstone, with a powerful ally at his back. Though the North is wary of the dragon queen, she's been accepted among their ranks... For now. One wrong move though and he's certain the people of the North will turn against her and he knows well they will not support her claim to the throne, especially so if she tries to dethrone him again. But, those are thoughts for another time, perhaps tomorrow would do. Right then, there was something far more important to think about.

Jon knows she's in the room before he pushes the door open- he can sense her, even now, after so many weeks apart. She's a piece of him, she's an imprint upon his heart and soul, he knows her perhaps even better than he knows himself. And so he's not surprised when she's throwing herself into his arms without a word, embracing him as she had longed to do down in the courtyard that very morning. "You're home." It's all she can whisper before his mouth clamps down over hers, his arms coming around her waist to draw her as close to him as he possibly can.

"Well, I promised you, didn't I?"

Her laugh is cut off when Jon kisses her again, this time a deeper kiss that stirs warmth into her belly. All these weeks without him, she's wished for this, she's dreamed of this. It almost doesn't feel real to have him in her arms once again. But when he tightens his grip upon her, it steadies her, it reminds her how very real the moment is. "I've missed you," she murmurs, her lips against his jaw, his neck, his earlobe. He's sliding a hand into her hair, uncaring of the pins he knocks loose in his need to feel her silky red strands between his fingers. "I was afraid..." _Afraid you wouldn't come home. Afraid you would forget me._ Words she's thinking, but too frightened to say.

"I'm home now," his voice is against the shell of her ear, his other hand trailing the length of her spine._ I'll never leave your side again,_ those are the words he wishes he could say, but tomorrow he must leave again. "Stay with me tonight," he says instead, tipping his forehead against hers, his hand slipping from her hair to instead press against her cheek.

When she nods, he takes her by the hand and leads her to his bed.

For one single night, all is well. 


	121. i want to go home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post season 8 prompt. "I want to go home" - said Jon Snow.

Jon Snow wants to go home.

It's been several long months at the Wall, back at his duties in black, though what was the Night's Watch has no name anymore. He and who was left of them merged into to the Wildling army and sometimes Jon thinks they are more Free Folk than anything else now. Not that it matters much now.

He's come in here hopes of forgiving himself for what terrible things his actions have caused, but in truth he's only found more sorrow, more pain. Jon had thought the punishment of being without her would allow for him to atone for what he's done and someday, he would feel free from the shackles of guilt. But here we are, seven months in, and he feels only worse without _her _presence.

_Sansa..._ She comes to him often, like a beacon in the darkness, like the warm sun on the coldest of days... Though she is only in his mind, she is there all the same, the thought of her the only thing able to rise him from his furs each day. She is the first thing he thinks of when he does wake in the morning and she's the last thing he thinks of at night. Despite the distance between them, she is what keeps him going. If only... If only he could see her again.

Jon knows he probably _could_ go home. Sansa would welcome him home, he knows, but would everyone else? As far as he's concerned, he's become a war criminal, the man who did not stop Daenerys Targaryen in time. Back then, he had still hoped, still prayed, that Daenerys would not do the terrible things that she had done. He had been stupid to believe she would not stoop to the level that she had- and millions of innocent people had paid the price for that belief. No, in truth, Jon isn't so sure that he deserves to stand by her side or within the walls of Winterfell. He's done his crime, so now he must pay.

[ x x x ]

"Careful, little crow."

It's Tormund's voice cutting into his thoughts just a moment before Jon nearly walks into two men carrying a load of wood between them. Just off the back of Castle Black, men are building small cottages for the elderly, to ensure they remain warm through the lasting winter months. "Sorry," he grunts at the two before they're on their way again; he sighs, reaching up a hand to run through his unruly curls.

"Lost, eh?" Tormund falls into step beside him, the two making their way across the courtyard towards the stables. "Little crow..." He puts a hand to Jon's shoulder, forcing him to stop in his paces. The face that turns back to look at him is pale, drawn, a man that does not sleep except when the ale takes him out. Tormund does not take his hand from his shoulder. "You look like shit."

Jon laughs, he can't help it. Trust in Tormund to always speak freely and truthfully. And the truth was, Jon felt like shit. "I couldn't sleep," he admits after a moment, sobering somewhat as he looks up into his companion's face. What he doesn't tell him is how he was woken from a dream of dragon fire and distant screams. Guilt weighs heavily upon his heart, still yet, probably until his dying breath.

"You need a night with a woman," Tormund replies, to which Jon again smiles._ If only it were so easy,_ Jon thinks, knowing there was almost nothing that could save him from this pain inside. But the only thing that might ever provide him any comfort was hundreds of miles away and truly, was better off without his presence around her.

"I need to go home," he whispers before he can stop himself. "I want to go home."

Tormund blinks and then softens. "Then go, little crow."

Jon looks up, surprised. "I can't, I-I-"

"You nothing. You don't owe anyone shit. You coming here was of your own choice and you know it." Tormund says with a quick shake of his head. "She pardoned you before you even arrived here, you chose to ignore it and stick around here with us as some sort of self imposed punishment." Jon is staring up at him and once again, Tormund reaches out to touch the younger man's shoulder. "So go home. Go to her." Tormund knows how deeply Jon loves that girl, the new Queen in the North, and so he should be with her if it's what will make him happy.

It couldn't be that easy. It just couldn't be.

But then again, perhaps it was... Perhaps this was all he needed to do.

[ x x x ]

She's settled at the desk in her solar when a knock sounds upon her door.

Looking up from where she sits, the door swings open and in comes Lord Royce. "A letter, your grace," he says when he raises himself up from his bow. "It bears no name." He adds as he hands the folded parchment across the desk and into her hand. "Shall I wait for a reply?" It takes a moment, but she looks up and offers him a smile, shaking her head. Lord Royce bows his head and exits the room, just as she's breaking the seal upon the back of the letter.

The handwriting is still familiar, after all these months. The slight slant of the letters, the smudges of ink that prove how hard handed he is when it comes to a quill. He was a man better suited to a sword, it was true. She dares not believe the words written upon the page, for fear of suffering more pain, and yet...

_Meet me in the godswood. Tonight._

Those words are so simple that they must be true. It's like a plea, words from a man full of pain and desperation. Sansa can feel the tremor in her own heart as she thinks back to the last time they saw each other, the last time they held each other. Sometimes, she can still yet feel the way he had clung to her that day on the docks.

With a sigh, she tucks the letter in among the others, and returns to work.

[ x x x ]

When darkness has fallen, she slips from her chambers, silently making her way through the halls of Winterfell without detection. Being queen has brought with her a true lack of privacy- it is rare that she finds herself ever without a guard, whether it be Brienne or another. They mean well, she reminds herself, only wishing to keep her safe from harm, but in this new world of peace, Sansa feels no fear.

As she steps out into the cold, dark night, a wolf howls somewhere in the distance. The sound sends chills down her spine and she knows, almost at once, that it is Ghost that howls. Her heart picks up its pace as she crosses the courtyard and pushes through the small gate that separates the trail that wil take her down towards the godswood. With only the light of the moon to guide her way, Sansa walks slowly until standing there at the heart tree, she sees a figure.

"Jon..." His name is upon her lips just as he turns around to face her.

Standing there in the glow of the moon, Jon swears she's never been more beautiful. He finds that now that she stands before him, all the words he's rehearsed to say to her are gone. "Sansa, I..." He begins, his heart skipping a beat as she takes a single step closer to where he stands, looking more shocked than anything else. "I'm sorry...-"

Whatever else he was going to say is stopped when she throws her arms around him.

He wraps his arms around her then, perhaps this was all they needed.


	122. for the north

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S7 AU where Jon gives his crown to Sansa before he goes to Dragonstone so the North would remain independent if ever Jon doesn't return, dies, or is forced by Tyrion and Daenerys to surrender the North. Political Jon and Political Sansa being smart together.

"I don't want it-"

"Sansa please-"

"_Not like this,_" she hisses, desperation clinging to her voice, her hands clutching tightly to his. "I will keep the North safe while you are away, but I will not take your crown. I will not." She means to be honorable, he knows, but this go beyond honor. It goes beyond everything. It is about keeping her and the North safe and free.

"It's the only way!" He explodes, sharper than he intends, but it stings her all the same. The rosy lips that were once dripping with venom fall closed, a frown falling into place instead. She looks down at her feet, silent understanding, though she longs to ignore it. His hands fall into place against her shoulders and she looks up only then, her blue eyes shining with tears in the dancing firelight. "It's the only way to keep the North protected." She blinks and it takes a moment, but she finally relents and gives a single nod.

Relief rushes through him and he leans in, pressing a kiss against her forehead, lingering perhaps longer than one might call seemly. He wonders what she might say if he had kissed her lips instead; she wishes he had.

"I will tell the lords tomorrow," he says after a moment more of silence, abruptly removing himself from her grip as if he's been burned. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but she sighs instead, watching him turn to go. At the door, he pauses. "You will be a better queen than I could ever be king." He says and then he's gone, the door falling closed behind him with a soft thud.

In the morning, he will leave her so he might sail for Dragonstone and she's not certain how she can stand to part ways with him. Outside her door, Jon lingers, wanting desperately to turn back to her. To return inside and tell her the truth that lingers within his heart, no matter how wrong it might seem. But, he pushes away from her door and returns to his own rooms, knowing that the truth would do little else but drive a wedge between them. He would not ruin what they already had.

[ x x x ]

There is almost no noise within the great hall.

Though the Northern lords look upon him with shock, he knows that even they too can understand the reasoning behind his choice. Some might go as far as to say they might prefer the young woman as their queen, anyways, which Jon could not blame them for. "To protect the North... It is my only mission as King..." Jon says as he turns to address the room in its entirety. "There is no saying what Daenerys Targaryen will ask of me to secure her support and in truth, there's nothing I can think of that I will not do. Including this." He looks around the room and then turns to face Sansa, seated just to his left. "I revoke my place as King in the North and instead, give the crown to my sister, Sansa Stark." With no title beyond brother to the Queen in the North, Jon will not be forced to bend the North to a foreign queen in exchange for her help. The North will remain free and independent. The North will remain safe. And so will she.

Brienne of Tarth, though no lord, is the first to hit a knee with her sword offered in fealty to her new queen. Lord Royce comes next and then one by one, the lords of the North and the heads of the greatest families, drop to their knees to swear allegiance to the young woman they will come queen.

As she rises to her feet, the hall is filled with a single chant.

_Queen in the North! Queen in the North!_

It feels hollow, it feels empty.

But it's hers all the same.

[ x x x ]

It's been months, the days passing in such a way that she's lost track of them all in truth.

But he's home, he's home.

Standing out in the courtyard of Winterfell, she stands among her remaining siblings and a handful of others, waiting on the arrival of this Targaryen queen. When Jon comes through the gates first, it is to stoop and hug Bran, tears in his eyes as he holds close the younger brother he had thought lost to him. Though much changed since the last time he saw him, Jon sees the little brother he had always known.

When he returns to his full height, it's to settle his gaze upon her. In the many, many weeks since his departure, he's thought of little else than this woman standing in front of him. "Sansa- your grace," he corrects himself, addressing her for the first time with her new title. Before another word can be spoken, he's reaching for her, unable to wait another moment to take her into his arms. He breathes her in and he can feel her cling to him, almost unwilling to let him go. But she knows her place better than anybody else and a moment later, she's pulling back with a small, confident sort of smile.

There is no time for more talking for they all hear the crunching of snow beneath boots and so they turn back towards the gate. Sure enough, there is a beautiful young woman coming towards them at the side of an older, tall man she recognizes to surely be a Mormont, surprising her. But the woman at his side his far more important and so Sansa swivels her gaze to the dragon queen that has approached where they stand. Beside her, his hand still on her arm, Jon turns to greet her. "Your grace," he clears his throat, drawing his hand back suddenly, as if he'd forgotten where it had been placed. "Might I introduce my sister, the Queen in the North, Sansa Stark."

Sansa can't help but smile somewhat smugly down at the violet eyed woman that now stands in her presence. This woman would remember her as the queen that never bent, the red wolf of the North, for Sansa would never bow to her whims and wishes. Dragons or no dragons, Sansa has faced worse in life than this Daenerys Targaryen nd she would never bend. Not to her, not to anyone. But she softens her smile and gives this visiting "queen" a nod before speaking.

"Welcome to Winterfell."


	123. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for a writing prompt meme: doubt

The air is cold, stinging, the wind biting at the exposed skin of her cheeks.

She draws her furs closer but she does not stray from her place. It’s late, the darkness thick here, so close to the forest. Behind her, the war tents stand upright in the wind, the soldiers warm and drunk tucked into their beds. Tomorrow, they will fight, they will fight for Jon and for her, they will fight to reclaim what is theirs. They will fight to reclaim Winterfell in the name of House Stark. And yet… She’s full ofdoubt.

Her mind swirls with the what ifs- what if the Vale and Lord Baelish don’t come through as they have promised they will? What if, in the end, Jon does lose? Her heart aches at the thought of the loss of him, knowing quite well what it will mean for her if he is gone. She swore she would not go back to Ramsay alive- and she will not- but when she really thinks about it, Sansa isn’t certain she could live without Jon anyways. Not now, not anymore. Despite what other people might think, might say, the place Jon holds in her heart is far beyond that of a bastard brother.

“Sansa?”

She turns and there he is, as if her thoughts have summoned him to her side. “You should be resting,” she admonishes, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, a slight smile tugging on her lips. “For tomorrow.” The weight of the truth falls heavily between them. This very well could be their final conversation and they both know it.

“Aye,” he agrees as he steps closer to where she stands, his hand aching to reach out and touch the curve of her cheek, to feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. He cares not if it’s right or wrong, these feelings inside of him are stronger than anything he’s ever felt in all of his life. “As should you.” She looks tired and Jon wonders when the last time she slept was.

“I am not the one who has a battle to fight.” She speaks softly, looking away then, as if she cannot stand to face him. When she moves to turn away from him, he catches her by the arm, forcing her back around.

“I’ll come back to you,” he swears quietly, the looming worry of death and loss making him bolder than usual. In truth, when he looks into her eyes this way, he’s filled with a determination that says he will win. How can he fail her? He can’t. The doubt within his own heart fades as he takes her hands with his, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I promise you, Sansa, I will come back to you.”

Sansa blinks, unaware that tears had even filled her eyes, a slow smile spreading across her lips. As she sinks into his arms, the doubt she once felt begins to fade; somehow, someway, Jon will win and he will come back to her, as he’s promised.


	124. the queen's mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do a short fic where Queen Sansa has to decide what to do with Lord Glover after he abandoned the rest of the Northerners alone to fight the dead. She thinks about what Jon would do, she remembers Jon as being forgiving and merciful to the Umbers and Karstarks but she also has to keep in mind that Lord Glover left them alone but without reason. She has to choose between Lord Ned Stark's justice or Good King Jon's mercy.

Sitting at the head table, Sansa peers out at the Lords within the room.

It feels strange still yet, sitting at this table without Jon, without Arya, without even Bran. She is alone, despite the many faces staring back at her. “Allow him in,” she calls out, breaking the silence of the room. At once, the guard nearest the double doors turns and pushes them open, allowing into the room a white faced, gray haired man who seems to have aged a century or two in the time since she’s last seen him. “Lord Glover,” she greets as he approaches the table where she sits. The man stoops to offer her a low bow, rising up only when she commands it a moment later.

“My queen,” the man murmurs, looking up only when she speaks for him to do so. He is torn between shame and fear- shame that he broke his word to this young woman, to her house, and fear of what punishment she might have in store for him. He does not blame her, he has shamed himself and his own house by refusing the call to arms against the Night King some months back. He is shamed by the lords within that room, he is called a coward, a traitor, he is unwelcome among all of them. “I-” he begins, hoping he might speak for himself, perhaps beg forgiveness, but the queen has other ideas.

“House Glover will stand behind House Stark,” she inclines her head, her sharp blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she stares at him. “Is that not what you said to me, only some months ago?”

“My queen, please, let me explain-” he begins, but falls silent when she gives a single shake of her head.

“There is no need to explain yourself, my lord.” Sansa drums her fingers atop the table where her hand rests, shifting in her chair as the man squirms before her gaze. “Your words mean very little to me.” She adds, stinging the man further, though he knows well that he deserves her sharp tone and harsh words. “In this room, good men sit. Good men that have lost sons and fathers and brothers, all in the name of the North. In this room, men who stood against the darkness of death, who put their lives on the line to ensure the Night King did not break through to the rest of the realm.” Lord Glover bows his head as she speaks, unable to face her as she speaks the truth before the entire room. He does not deserve to stand before any one of those within the room. “I have thought a lot about what to do with you,” she admits and he flinches. It brings her no joy. In truth, she’s wrestled with what to do with this man- part of her wishes to punish him for what he’s done, for backing down when they needed him the most. But at the same time… She thinks often of Jon and his ability to be merciful even to those who might not deserve it. He would have been a kind king, a just king, if only things had turned out differently. "Some would advise against trusting you again, but I believe in second chances.“ The man’s eyes snap back up, wide with his surprise. Whispers erupt within the room, but the voices fall silent when their queen raises up a hand. "Swear to me, right here, right now, before all of these men that fought so we all may live, that you will uphold your promise to stand behind House Stark.”

At once, Lord Glover is on his knees, hands raised in a gesture of fealty. “I swear, on my very life, to stand behind House Stark until my dying breath.” The man swears, knowing full well this is beyond anything he deserves. “I am undeserving of your mercy, my queen.” Others in the room would not hesitate to agree with him, but the queen is smiling as she gestures for him to rise back up. “I will not disappoint you again.”

Somehow, Sansa knows he means it.


	125. soul mates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa soulmate AU but pre parental reveal. Just imagine the drama: One day Jon sees Sansa's name on his skin and freaks out. He'll try to distance himself from Sansa and covers his soulmark, fearing that Ned will send him away. Meanwhile Sansa grows up happily dreaming about marrying a Prince Aegon unaware that it's actually Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set with the mindset that there will be a part 2, so if the ending feels cut off weird, its because a) it is lmao & b) part 2 will clear everything up.

In Westeros, every child looks forward to the day their soul mark appears.

It appears in the the form of a single name, tattooed against your skin in any number of places; some see it upon their arm, others their thigh. That name, of course, is the name of your soul mate, the person in life you're to marry and love. The soul mark knows nothing of the boundaries that humanity have placed upon society and while there are some within the nobility who choose to ignore the name they're given, most people in the end, find themselves with their soul mate, regardless of their station. It's whispered that ignoring your soul mark will only bring a person unhappiness.

When Sansa Stark's appears, it's a small scrawl of a name just above her left collarbone. _Aegon,_ it reads, a foreign name that she has heard only in her history books. It's a Targaryen name and she knows as well as anybody that there aren't any Targaryen's left in the world. But that doesn't stop her from dreaming of a life with a silver haired prince, a beautiful future that she longs for most of her childhood.

But by the time she's seventeen, it seems quite like her mysterious Aegon will never appear.

She's spent the better part of the last six years dreaming of a life with her soul mate, of waiting for him to ride into Winterfell upon a white horse and take her to a place all their own. Now that so much time has passed, even she has begun to lose hope on ever finding her soul mate. Her mother tells her not to worry, but Catelyn Stark has worries of her own when it comes to her daughter's soul mark. Like Sansa, she knows the Targaryen name has long since died out and she's bade her daughter keep the name to herself all these years. Her suspicions only rose when she told Ned of Sansa's mark appearing when she was a girl; Ned had been shocked to hear the name that was their daughter's soul mark, but Cat had left the conversation as if her husband had known more than he let on. Even now, six years since it's appearance, she and Ned had yet to speak on it again.

Stepping out into the morning sunshine, Sansa sighs, lifting her skirts over a muddy puddle as she wanders into the courtyard. _Winter is coming, _her father had said only a few weeks ago, family words that have spanned several generations. The Stark's always said it and yet, winter had yet to come. But, now that she thinks about it, there is a slight chill to the morning air that wasn't there yesterday.

She's distracted from her thoughts of winter by a shout of laughter and she turns her blue eyes upon her youngest siblings, wrestling in the dirt. Another sigh escapes her and she takes a step forward as if she means to break them up, but something else catches her eyes. It's Jon, slinking off around to the stable, his dark head down as if something is bothering him. For a moment, she hesitates, but decides the kids playing in the dirt is less important than the sulking Jon. It's true, they don't get along the best of their siblings, but ever since they lost Robb the summer before, their relationship certainly has changed.

And so, Sansa veers off from her path and follows Jon's between the south wall of the battlements and the stable, coming around the back to find him dropped onto a crude wooden bench that sits out just behind the stable. She watches him for several seconds- he's looking at something on his forearm, quite intently she notices, and he heaves a sigh moments before Sansa begins to approach him.

At the sound of the footsteps, Jon tugs his sleeve down, hiding from view the name that had appeared upon his skin only a few days before. It had taken so long for his to appear, Jon had been certain he would be one of those rare people without the soul mark- a man doomed to a life without love. But then he had woken one morning to the delicate, yet looping letters of a name upon the forearm of his right arm. _Sansa._ It is worse than no name appearing at all... His soul mark is the name of his own half sister. And now that he turns, the approaching footsteps belong to that very same sister. "Sansa..." Her name is soft upon his lips and he can't help but to return the sunny smile she offers him.

In truth, Jon can't deny the strange feelings he's been wrestling with these last few months. Since they lost Robb, his relationship with Sansa has changed and he finds they spend far more time together now than they ever have. "Are you alright?" She asks, dropping down onto the bench beside him, their shoulders brushing. Like Jon, she notices the rush of electricity at the slight touch of their shoulders, though she does her best to ignore it. _Aegon_, she reminds herself, as she always does when these strange feelings begin to creep in again. My soul mate's name is Aegon. But even though she tries to deny it, there is something warm about being with Jon. There is something comforting, something different from him that she can compare with nothing else. Bastard brother or not, there is something between them that neither can explain.

Jon grins as he turns away, elbows on his thighs as he leans forward, a sigh escaping him. He can't tell her the truth about what's on his mind, though it's there on the tip of his tongue. But he knows he can't tell her, he can't begin to imagine what their father would say if he knew, let alone how Sansa herself would react. "I miss Robb," he says instead, inwardly wincing at using their beloved dead brother as a lie. Sansa's eyes soften at his admission and it takes her only a moment to scoot closer, leaning her head against his shoulder, her hand sliding into place over his a moment later.

"I miss him, too," her words only make Jon feel worse, but the lie is there and now he must stick with it.


	126. soul mates, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: soul mates fic part two please !!!
> 
> a continuation of the previous chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is really fun for me & i might continue little drabbles with this plot if people like it :)

Jon finds himself seated beneath the heart tree at the center of the godswood.

It's been several weeks since the appearance of his soul mark and somehow, someway, he's managed to hide it from everyone in his family. Seated there in the safety and privacy of the godswood, he pulls up his sleeve to yet again peer down at the slanted, curving letters that make up the name of his younger half sister. _Sansa..._ He thinks of her, red hair shining like gold in the sunlight... He thinks of her blue colored eyes, so deep that he could drown in them. Jon wonders when these feelings began, but then again, he supposes they've always been there. Somewhere, in the back of his heart, they've always been lurking.

"What's that, Jon?"

He nearly leaps from his skin, a yelp leaving his lips as he tries to tug down the sleeve of his shirt before turning to face his father that has so suddenly appeared. "N-nothing," he stammers, shaking his head, trying to smile for his somewhat stone-faced father. Ned Stark is a somber, serious sort of man- though a smile most often appears when he is among his children.

"It is your soul mark, is it not?" Ned asks, dropping down onto the stone bench where his son sits. "I told you it would come in it's own time." Ned smiles as he reaches for Jon's arm, to see for himself the name that will be tattooed upon his forearm. But, to his surprise, Jon turns away, red faced with shame, eyes dark with fear. "Jon... You needn't fear me seeing the name..." For a long moment, Jon stares back at him with those dark Stark eyes, eyes he sees when he looks at Arya, eyes he sees when he thinks of Lyanna. "I promise, son," softer now, gentler. Though he looks very much like he would rather do anything but, Jon extends out his arm so Ned can roll back his sleeve and reveal the name there upon his skin.

For what could be ten seconds or ten years, father and son sit in silence; Ned is shocked, needless to say, and he's having trouble finding the words to say. After all this time, he's almost forgotten that Jon is not truly his by birth, so seeing his daughter's name on his arm is truly shocking. But the initial shock passes and Ned realizes that there is a long conversation he must have with Jon. With his entire family. "I see..." Ned murmurs, tracing the curving letters of Sansa's name, recalling for a moment the day she was born- he had the bells ring from sun up to sun down, all to honor the first born daughter of Winterfell. "Jon... There's some things we must speak of." He begins softly and as Jon takes his arm from his grasp, he turns somewhat surprised eyes upon the man he's always called father.

And then, Ned begins to speak.

[ x x x ]

When Jon returns to his rooms, he's in a stupor.

His brain doesn't seem to be functioning, but luckily for him his feet know the way. In his room, Ghost is snoozing on the floor before the hearth, which glows with a small fire a maid has stoked in the last few minutes, for he remembers passing her in the corridor. He offers Ghost a pat on the head, smiling absently when he hears the soft _thump_ of his tail on the floor, but even his loyal wolf cannot bring him from his racing thoughts.

I'm not their brother... He's thinking as he sinks into his favorite chair, draped with a fur lined blanket Sansa had sewn for his last nameday. "Not their brother..." He says it aloud, testing the words, though they still yet sound foreign. They sound wrong. All these years he's grown up the bastard of Winterfell, never a Stark, never anyone. And now... Now, he's truly not certain who he's supposed to be. Born of a Stark and a Targaryen, though hidden from the world when his birth father lost to Robert Baratheon, he's the last of his bloodline. The last Targaryen. Except for that aunt of his that lives across the Narrow Sea, somewhere in Essos, though she is of the same age as himself.

_Knock, knock._

The gentle tapping on his door interrupts his thoughts and Jon is grateful for the minor distraction. He pulls himself out of his whirling mind and rises back up to his feet, crossing the room to open the door. "Sansa," he breathes at the sight of her, blue eyes wide and uncertain, red hair twisted in braids, though soft curls frame her face. Her gown is rumpled, as if she's been twisting the gray damask between her fists, as if she's been listening to things that make no sense to her. And now he knows, now he understands; she knows.

Without another word, Jon takes a step back so she might step inside his room, and he closes the door behind her. At once, Ghost is dancing around her and she gives him a moment of attention before she turns back to face him, an uncomfortable sort of silence falling between them. "Father told me," she admits after several moments, shifting on the balls of her feet as she focuses her blue eyes upon him.

"Oh." It's all he can say, it's all his lips will allow.

"Things don't have to change... Much." She smiles and for a single, fleeting moment, Jon believes her. "You're still just Jon." She goes on, knowing how hard it must be for him to accept this news he's been given. It's hard enough for her to accept it- but then again, after what else her father has told her, maybe it won't be so hard. "I also came to tell you something." Jon looks up from where he's been staring at his feet, his Stark colored eyes widening slightly.

Again silence descends and though her cheeks warm with color, Sansa raises her hands to the neckline of her gown and she tugs it down, ever so slightly. Jon's shock returns when he sees there against her collarbone, the name that is her soul mark. "Aegon." She whispers, the truth falling between them, changing things. Changing them. "Though I think I much prefer Jon." A soft giggle escapes her and it's Jon's turn to smile, something warm spreading through every inch of him. Something he's never felt before.

"So do I," he says and she grins, taking a step closer to where he stands. She's so close that he can catch the scent of winter roses in her hair. "Things really don't have to change?" He asks, self conscious once again, worry taking root in him that things can never be the same. That the only family he has will fade away as the truth of his birth becomes a whisper across Westeros.

"Only some things," she says softly, reaching out to gently touch his hand; her skin is warm and soft against his. "But you will always be Jon to me, to all of us." She thinks of Arya, fiercely defending the brother she's always known. She thinks of Bran, who cried when he realized Jon was not his true brother. She thinks of her mother's relief, when she realizes that her husband never betrayed her with another woman. "We're a pack. A family. Even if our roles change, no matter what, you'll always be part of us." Some things might have to change, but not all of them.

"Thank you, Sansa," he murmurs and he reaches for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Things might have to change, but maybe that would be for the better. 


	127. a clumsy queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clumsy Sansa hurting herself over small little things and it drives Jon insane. AKA Sansa giving Jon gray hair and huffing ‘you are too paranoid Jon’ LOL.

When Jon opens the doors to her chambers, he finds her at the center of the room, clutching a sopping wet cloth to her hand.

"Again?" He groans as he crosses the threshold, allowing the door to fall closed behind him as he enters. "By the gods Sansa, are you trying to take years off my life?" She laughs, but at the sight of his face she sobers, flashing him instead an apologetic sort of smile.

"It's not so bad." She offers, sweet as honey. Jon sighs.

He takes her hand into his, inspecting the wound that grazes the palm of her hand; she's right, as far as burns go, it's not the worst of them. It's not even the worst one she's had before (he wishes he didn't have to think that, but here he was). "It hurts, though." He observes as he places the cool, wet towel back into place against her reddened skin. She raises her blue eyes to meet his and after a moment, gives a quick nod. "You need a salve," he goes on, stepping away from her for just a moment, so he can stick his head into the hallway to speak to Brienne, who as always, stands guard at her lady's door. "How did this one happen?" He asks when he returns to her side, steering her into the nearest chair, taking a moment to pour her a glass of spiced wine, which will help clear her mind and ease her pain.

When she's taken the first long sip of the wine, she sets down the goblet and grins. "Baking bread." She says, not really surprising him. Ever since her crowning, she's become more like a kitchen maid than a queen, spending most of her free time learning from the servants of Winterfell on cooking and the other things they do that keeps her home running so smoothly. _I should know_, she says whenever he tells her she needn't do such things, _I am their queen, I should know what they do for me every single day._ "I think Agatha was in more pain than I." She smiles, thinking of stony faced Agatha, who had been an old woman even in her childhood. Agatha, of all the servants within Winterfell, had been kindest to her when she lived as Ramsay's prisoner. She had been the only one to whisper to her in the darkness, defying the fear she so surely lived in when Ramsay was Warden of the North. The North remembers, Lady Stark, Agatha had once whispered to her, the North never forgets. The wolves will come again. And so they had.

"Is the bread good, at least?" Jon asks, to which Sansa laughs aloud, shaking her head.

"Burned worse than my hand," she admits with a shrug, turning as a knock sounds on her door, which opens when she's called out.

It's a maester, who Jon waves away when he offers to bandage the queen's injured hand. When they're alone once more, Jon gently takes her hand and sets aside the cool rag she's been pressing against her singed skin. "If you're to injure yourself as such, at least have something to show for it," Jon admonishes as he carefully spreads the healing ointment across her skin, eyes raising up only once when she sucks in a pained breath. "That should do it," he tenderly wraps her hand in the bandages and when he's finished, he forces the goblet of wine back into her hands. "Drink. You'll feel better." It was true, after only two more sips the strong wine is sending warm waves of relief through her body. Or perhaps it was Jon himself. "Promise me you'll stay away from the kitchens, it's caused nothing but problems for you." She opens her mouth to protest but Jon shakes his head. "Ah! The knife incident?" That had been when she was learning to peel potatoes and nearly cut off her thumb. She opens her mouth again but once more, he shakes his head. "The stew? The lemon cakes?"

"Alright, alright, I get it," Sansa laughs, draining the last of the goblet. "I'll stay out of the kitchens, though I must say you're far too paranoid." She leans in close and taps him in the center of his chest with her good hand. "Besides, I was to join Brienne in the yard tomorrow with the soldiers. I should like to learn to wield a sword." Her tone is mischievous and she chuckles at the sight of Jon's expression. "I'm joking you know, Brienne would never. See, I told you that you're too paranoid." Jon heaves an exasperated sort of sigh, but he smiles all the same, leaning in to capture her mouth with his. She tastes of wine and freshly baked bread.

"I might like to see that," he whispers, his breath warm against the skin of her jaw as he trails the softest of kisses down the length of it. "My warrior queen." She's smiling and Jon tips his forehead against hers, a long moment of tenderness between them. "But," he pulls back, eyes gleaming as he tries to adopt a stern tone. "I would much rather you find a hobby that is not so... Dangerous."

"Your hobbies are dangerous," she reminds him.

"I am a man."

"And I am queen. You sound like father," she thinks back to the days of childhood, when Arya had wanted to wield a sword of her own and every adult in her life had told her no. It was true, she had no desire to wield a sword, but it certainly was fun to see Jon squirm with worry over her. "But, fear not my love, I won't be picking up much of anything for a few days at least." She waves her hand, bandaged and still stinging, in front of his face. Jon gently takes hold of her wrist, drawing her hand towards his mouth so he can press a kiss to every fingertip, to the spot between her thumb and index finger, to any inch of exposed skin that he could. "If only kisses could heal." She murmurs as he draws his gaze back up to meet hers, a smile curving on her lips. "You know I will return to the kitchens when I am healed, right?"

Jon sputters on a laugh of his own. "At least promise me you will be more careful."

To this, she can nod. "I promise."

And a promise made is a promise kept.


	128. a confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa prompt- a little bit of angst where the two of them finally admit they love each other. I always pictured jon saying beautiful things with all of his heart while sansa can't stop crying because she's finally being loved and appreciated. Just and idea, I particularly love angst and confessions of love. Thank you.

He's leaving in the morning.

Standing there in the burning firelight, she's never looked more beautiful to him. He knows it's wrong, he knows what people would say if they knew... But he can't help it. He can't fight what his heart has known all these weeks. Perhaps even longer than that. "Sansa..." her name is a comfort on his lips, soft and slow as she closes her eyes. "I..." He stops himself and she opens her eyes, twin pools of blue that draw him in, that threaten to drown him though he knows how willingly he would go down. "There's something I want you to know." He's leaving in the morning and he wants her to know. Just in case. 

For a moment, there's only silence, her lip caught between her teeth as she gazes up at him. His hand twitches, longing to reach for her cheek, to trace the outline of her jaw with his fingertips. Instead, she's the one that closes the gap between them, hand pressing against his chest, to feel his heart beat against her palm. She's so close he can smell the rosewater on her hair. "Sansa, I... I..." He can't say it- he's afraid of what her reaction might be. He's afraid of changing what they already have. "I don't know how to say it." He admits softly, chuckling in spite of himself. 

"Then show me." 

Her whisper makes his heart skip a beat. Jon blinks, drawing back only slightly as her words sink in. Then show me. And so he does. Leaning in, Jon captures her mouth with his own, a long but soft kiss that might last an eternity or only a moment, for they both lose track of the time. When he does draw back, he wonders if her lips tingle as much as his do. "I love you," he says simply, raising his shoulders in a shrug, as if he's speaking of something mundane. "I love you, Sansa. I know.. I know it's wrong." He shakes his head, reaching out a hand to slide into place against her cheek. "But it feels... So right. If loving you is wrong, I don't want to know what right is." 

She can't believe what he's saying.

In the weeks that have passed since their reunion, there was no denying the feelings that had begun to grow between them. Sansa had felt it almost at once, a strange, but warm feeling arising at nearly any encounter with her bastard brother. "Jon..." The sound of her speaking his name sent chills racing down his spine; she had never used such a tone before. Tears are filling her eyes, threatening to spill over. "I love you, too," she admits, softer than before, her lips curving with a smile. Saying those words aloud... It felt so very right. "I don't want you to go," she says then, admitting the truth that has been on her mind in the hours since his announcement. "I'm afraid, Jon." Afraid for him to go, afraid to be alone. Afraid that he won't come back to her. 

"I have to go," he replies, a smile pulling at his lips. "I'll come home to you," he speaks as if he can read her thoughts, as if he knows every thought, every worry that comes to her mind. "I promise you." When had he failed her before? "When I return..." _We can be together. We can find happiness._ "I want to stand beside you," he leans in, mouth so close to hers he can feel the warmth of her breath when she exhales. A tear streaks her cheek and he swipes it away with his thumb, tipping his forehead against hers. "No matter what happens, from here on out, it's all for you." 

This time when he kisses her, he doesn't intend to stop. 


	129. namesake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa introducing their children to their namesakes.

When Robb was five years old, his mother took him down to the crypts.

It wasn’t for the first time, they went down there often, and often Robb snuck down there with Brother Sam to play, though he wouldn’t tell his mother that. Today, however, they do not stop at the usual spots- his grandparents graves- but rather they move a few feet further down, stopping at the stone statue of a young, handsome man with a great wolf at his feet. Even in stone, young Robb can see the Stark features of his father and the Tully of his mother. The young stone face is a perfect mix of the many faces he’s come to know of the various families and he wonders what color the stone hair would have been. “Who is it, lady mother?” The boy asks, quietly, something strange welling up within him. A sense of sadness, he knows what that feels like, and a sense of… Something he’s too young to yet understand. Later, he will call it an emptiness, staring into the face of someone you’ll never know.

“It is your uncle, sweet child,” his mother’s honey like voice fills him with warmth as she sinks down to his level, hands upon his shoulders. “He was my older brother, your uncle Robb. It is he you are named for.” She’s smiling, a soft, but sad smile as she too stares up at the stone face of the young man. Young Robb knows that if those stone eyes were real, they would look just like his mother’s. “He was the North’s first King in over three hundred years.” The little boy stares up at the face of his uncle, wishing with all of his might that he might speak to him, guide him. But the crypts are silent, aside from the soft sigh of his mother’s breathing. “He was brave and a true knight, an honorable man that would have been a great king, had he lived.” He turns to glance at his mother’s face- she’s beautiful and young, but sadness clings to her, especially down here among the ghosts and statues. “You too will be a great king someday.” Robb blinks and then swallows, giving a solemn, single nod. She leans over him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, her hands warm as they slide through his hair. Then she takes his hand and they turn to go, the memories she’s now facing more painful than she thought they would be.

As he steps back to return to the courtyard, he pauses for only a moment, allowing her hand to slip from his. He turns back to the statue and his eyes seek out the etching that sits at the very bottom, words he’s just begun to learn to read thanks to his mother’s teaching. “Robb Stark, the Young Wolf.” He reads aloud, thinking of this uncle of his dashing through the halls of Winterfell, a wolf on his heels. “The Young Wolf…” He tests out the name, a grin sliding into place upon his face. And then he returns to his mother’s side, sliding his hand into hers as they make their way back down the corridor of the crypts.

[ x x x ]

When Robb Stark fights his first battle at the side of the Northern soldiers, he’s hailed a hero, a protector of the North.

When he comes out the victor, he is hailed a hero, the beloved Prince of Winterfell, their future king.

He is called the Young White Wolf, to honor the king he was named for and the father he was born from. He is Robb Stark, the Young White Wolf, the Prince of Winterfell, the blood of the North.


	130. the moonlight carries the message of love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa as Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Kamen.

His daily routine has become interrupted.

Jon isn’t one to stray from his sense of normalcy- his day to day routine is what keeps him on track, it’s what keeps him moving forwards. Between his part time job, his university extras, his normal school work, and… Well, that. His nights have become strange, foreign moments that seem more like a story than a person’s real life. And yet, every single night as he lays his head to the pillow, he finds himself creeping back out to search for the two things he dreams of… The girl with the long, flowing hair and the silver crystal, _the ginzuishou_, that she begs him to find. And it was one of these last few weeks that he stumbled in upon a young woman, a soldier of justice, Sailor Moon, she had called herself. A senshi bestowed with what he could only say was a pure, warm power, a power that even she has yet to fully understand.

Because these nights of his have become so… So… weird he’s been counting on his days to keep him grounded. But in truth, even his days have become something different.

It happened three weeks ago, the day he bumped into the strange blonde with the biggest blue eyes he’s ever seen. She had hit him with trash, in all honesty, and Jon had been unable to stop the snide remark. When she had spun to face him, his breath had been momentarily stolen, the sight of her rendering him somewhat speechless. She was spitfire of a girl, he could tell almost at once, delighted when her cheeks filled with color at his next few comments. Before she stormed off, she had snatched her crumpled up test back and disappeared around the corner.

That night was the first night the call to become Tuxedo Mask had come to him.

Now that he thinks about it, it’s almost strange that of all the days for it to be the first, it was the day he’d met that girl. Jon sighs, reaching up to run a hand through his unruly dark hair, stepping out of his apartment building and into the morning sunlight. It’s Saturday and for the first day in weeks, he’s got nothing to do. Truthfully, he could be studying, but even for just an hour he wants to do nothing but enjoy the nice weather.

As he turns the corner to head towards the park, he sees her.

She stands on the street corner with two other girls, out of her usual school uniform for the first time since he’s seen her. He takes in the sight of her- a little pink jumper with a striped tee underneath, something that’s so her it makes him smile. He hasn’t known her all that long, but Jon’s already begun to piece together the girl that is Sansa Stark. “Hey!” He raises his hand in a gesture of hello when all four girls look up at him in surprise. “Odango, cute outfit.” He greets and at once the blonde is stomping towards him, rolling those big blue eyes of hers.

“I have a name you know.” She huffs, folding her arms across her chest as she pierces him with her gaze. “Oh-dahn-go- don’t call me weird things,” she destroys the pronunciation of the word and he can’t help but to spare a chuckle at her expense.

“Odango.” He repeats, grinning when she rolls her eyes. “It’s Japanese- a class of mine.” Jon explains before he reaches out, giving one of the little buns on top of her head a tap. “It looks like you’ve got dumplings in your hair, odango means dumpling.”

“I do not have dumplings in my hair,” she scoffs, but her cheeks are warm, lips threatening to curve with the realization that he’s given her a nickname. Hands on her hips, she leans in, shaking her head. “Sansa. My name is Sansa.” From the way he’s grinning at her, something tells her he’s never going to call her by her name.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted by the sound of beeping. Sansa glances at her wrist watch before she turns, glancing at her friends across a shoulder. It’s barely noticeable, but Jon sees her eyes darken with worry before she turns back to face him. “I gotta go,” she gestures towards her friends, as if they are what’s pulling her away from him. “See you, Jon!” She shoots him a grin, but then she’s gone, joining with her trio of friends before they make their way across the street, towards the outskirts of the city. He watches them until they’re out of sight, committing to memory the way her hair swings as she walks, sleek blonde strands that he knows must be soft as silk.

It isn’t until she’s out of sight completely that he decides to move on, taking a step towards the park, his initial destination before bumping into Sansa. But, he can’t go much further before the world stops around him, an electric shock rushing through his veins, familiar to him now after so many times. When the sensation subsides, he’s racing across the street, feet taking him the way he needs to go. 

It was Sailor Moon, she was calling out to him again.


	131. Chapter 131

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the dialogue prompt: “quit staring! they’ll notice us!”
> 
> a jon is a wildling drabble.

A quick jab to his ribs jolts him from his thoughts.

“Quit staring,” she whispers, barely dare to raise her voice beyond that of which only wolves can hear. “They’ll notice us.” Blue eyes dart his way, rosy lips curving with her hidden smile. He takes the moment to appreciate the curves of her frame, the gray and white damask gown fits her wonderfully, though he is eager to see it upon the floor of his chamber instead.

“How can I have eyes for anyone but you, my queen?” He asks, just loudly enough that as Lord Royce strolls by he hears nothing more than a courtier complimenting his queen. Truth was, Lord Royce doesn’t understand why they even bother to try and hide their budding romance, but like the others who have noticed, he speaks not of what they see. Instead he merely smiles to himself and goes on his way; as long as his queen is happy, he is happy. “You have enchanted me like a witch,” he takes a step closer to her, giving her a gentle push behind the heavy drapes that hang along the wall.

Sansa laughs as he presses her back to the wall, one hand to the left of her head as he leans in just close enough that he can feel the curve of her lips when she smiles. “You dare call me a witch?” She asks softly, tipping her head back just enough that his mouth misses when he leans in. “I should have you hanged.”

It’s his turn to laugh, louder than he means, and they both stop for a moment, wondering if surely this would be their moment to be caught. But outside the drapery, the gathering she’s held in Winterfell, something like a ball, but not quite, continues on. “What else am I to think? I cannot sleep, cannot eat…” He stops, shaking his head, breath escaping him as he tips his forehead against hers. “I cannot be without you, Sansa.” The use of her name sends chills racing down her spine and she reaches up, threading her fingers through his wild black curls.

“Then don’t be.” She offers, relishing in the feel of his hair between her fingers. He’s to leave tomorrow, to return North of the Wall with the other Free Folk. They had spent the last several weeks there in Winterfell, securing a new and hopefully long lasting peace between the North and the Free Folk. Having secured his place as King Beyond the Wall, Jon had sought to make peace with the newly crowned Stark queen, who was rumored to have reclaimed Winterfell in the dead of night, with a pack of wolves at her back. “Stay with me.”

For a moment, the world stands still.

When it begins to spin again, he’s grinning like a fool, something warm and strong rushing through his entire being. She wants me to stay, he thinks, she wants me to stay. He knows what this means, he knows what he would be giving up… The only family he’s ever known. The loyal men and women he’s grown to love and who respect him as a comrade and a leader. And yet… As he gazes into her clear blue eyes, his choice is easy to make. He loves this woman, he knows that well, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to stand at her side.

And so he kisses her, hoping that is answer enough.


	132. a reluctant truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Do you think you can write an AU where Jon was raised with D and Viserys in Essos and Sansa still takes back Winterfell and she needs allies to help fight the WW so she sends an emissary to Dragonstone. Dany refuses unless the North bends the knee until she loses Dorne and the Reach while fighting Cersei. Needing allies D agrees to help fight for the North and heads for WF with Jon. Sansa watches from the battlements as the Targ forces arrives at WF and her and Jon finally meet. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was fun. more of this plot could come in future drabbles!!

When the letter from Dragonstone arrives on her desk, Sansa is uncertain.

She isn't crazy about the idea of teaming up with the last living Targaryen's- Daenerys and Aegon, though she's heard the young man prefers his Northern name of Jon. A name given to him as a child by his mother, in an effort to protect his identity from the Baratheon king Robert. She isn't happy about it, but she knows she must do what she must in order to protect her people, to protect the North. And in truth, from the other rumors she's heard about this Daenerys Targaryen, the woman won't offer aide without it benefiting her. And there was only one way helping the North would benefit her- and that was something Sansa wasn't willing to give.

Sighing, she breaks the seal and opens the letter.

It's as she's thought- Daenerys is unwilling to come to the North's aide against the White Walkers unless Sansa bends the knee to her. Anger rushes through her and Sansa tosses the parchment aside, shaking her head as she tries to calm her frustration. On one hand, though she hates to admit it, she needs the help of this dragon queen. She needs the power of dragons to fight against the army of the dead that marches towards them. It is the Targaryen woman's fault that the wall has fallen and if she is to call herself queen, Sansa cannot understand why she will not come to the aide of those she means to subjugate.

But it's no matter, she supposes she will have to find another way to ensure the safety of her people.

[ x x x ]

A fortnight later, another raven arrives.

The Targaryen's have lost Dorne and the Reach.

Sansa smiles and burns the letter, knowing that soon enough, things would surely begin to change.

[ x x x ]

When Lord Royce steps into the solar, he finds his queen standing at the window, staring out into the courtyard where men are hard at work digging trenches around Winterfell. "My queen?" He questions and she jumps, having not heard his initial knock nor entrance, and she smiles her apology. "A letter, your grace," he extends his hand out, where sure enough in his grasp is the letter she's been waiting for.

Sansa takes it from him and breaks the seal, holding up a hand to have him remain where he stands when he turns to excuse himself. "We must make preparations," she announces a moment later, raising her gaze from the letter she holds. "We are to have visitors."

"Visitors, your grace?"

She can't help but to smile, a smug sense of satisfaction coursing through her veins. "Yes. It seems like Daenerys Targaryen would like to make peace." The loss of her allies in Dorne and the Reach have spooked the Targaryen queen and now it is she who needs the North, rather than the other way around. "Ensure we are ready for their arrival. I expect them within the month." Lord Royce nods and then is gone, to alert the palace staff of the eminent arrival of the last living Targaryen's.

Turning back to look out at the courtyard, she sees that it's begun to snow.

Winter was almost here.

[ x x x ]

Standing atop the battlements, Sansa watches as the seemingly endless stream of soldiers stretch across the snowy landscape. Overhead, the two dragons shriek, but the sight of them brings her no fear; instead, she is drawn to watch them as they circle one another, their colorful scales shiny in the pale winter sunlight. Even she cannot help but to admit the beastly beauty the dragons have. 

Down below, there comes the sound of marching feet, and she sees the first line of soldiers have stepped through Winterfell's gates. Among them stands a silver-haired beauty, with soft, delicate features that give away her identity without question. It's the dragon queen. Beside her is a young man with a head of unruly curls, quite unlike the Targaryen aunt he calls his only family. In truth, the longer she stares at him, the more she realizes he is more Stark than Targaryen, as if he could be her own brother rather than cousin. His features remind her of father, of Arya, and it hurts.

And then, as if he feels her gaze upon him, he turns and their eyes meet.

For what could be an entire lifetime or only a moment, they lock gazes. Sansa feels her heart skip a beat, unaware that down where he stands, so does his. I cannot look away from him, she thinks, her hands tightening their grip upon the railing before her.

Jon has never seen a woman more beautiful than the one that gazes down at him.

That thick, auburn hair is what catches his sight first; he's never seen hair in such a color, as if it was kissed by fire. Her gown is of black and gray wool and the fur cloak she's draped over her shoulders is fashionable, yet must keep her warm in these cold, Northern temperatures. While Daenerys has done nothing but complain of the chill, Jon feels right at home. As if this was where he belonged.

A moment later and their connection is broken, for Jon turns away when he feels the touch to his arm. It's Daenerys, who has been saying his name in hopes of gaining back his attention. "What are you looking at?" His aunt asks, but when she turns to follow his line of sight, the woman has already vanished from the battlements. He wonders who she was.

But he doesn't have to wonder long for when they've been ushered into a large, but warm hall, she's already there waiting. She smiles for the two of them and inclines her head as Daenerys approaches her where she stands. Her hair might have been kissed by fire, but her eyes were touched by winter- so fiercely blue were they. "Warm yourselves, please," she gestures towards the roaring fire in the hearth behind where she stands, the light casting her into a golden sort of haze. "Welcome to Winterfell," she speaks in a voice like honey, the sound of it like music to his ears. She wears no crown, but the way she holds herself tells him all he needs to know... this is Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North.

Suddenly, it feels as if things are changing, shifting, and somehow he knows, nothing was ever going to be the same again.


	133. soulmates part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can we see Cat's reaction to the soulmate reveal?

It's as she's making her way down the corridor towards the great hall that she hears her husband's voice. "Cat." Ned sounds nervous, anxious, a tone to his voice that she doesn't remember hearing in years. "Gather the children, we must speak of something." Ned's hand encloses around her wrist and for a single instant, they are trapped in the gravity pull of each other. "It's urgent." But then his voice brings them both back and she nods, a rush of fear running rampant in her body. Just what could be so very urgent?

But she does as she's been bid, finding Bran and Arya in the great hall, teasing their wolves with scraps from supper. She sends them upstairs to her and Ned's chambers before she seeks out the others. Rickon she knows naps in his chamber, too young for such a conversation, she decides, and instead heads outside to search for Sansa. She finds Sansa in the gardens with blue roses tucked into her vibrant hair, all smiles for her mother when she sees her. "Lady mother," she greets as Cat approaches, pushing into her hands a bundle of the roses she's already collected. "I was to bring them to you, anyways," she says, but sobers when she notices the strange look upon her mother's face. "What is it? What's wrong?" Fear catches in her throat and Cat is proud of the astuteness of her oldest daughter. Perhaps she is almost too astute.

"Come, your father wishes to speak with all of us." Cat explains, gesturing for her daughter to follow after her. Silence descends and together, they make their way back into Winterfell and up the stairs towards the corridor where the family chambers are. One by one they walk by each door until they reach a set of double doors at the end of the hall and just around a corner- the Lord's chambers, Cat and Ned's rooms. They are not so often invited into their parent's rooms and so all of the children are surprised when they find themselves within.

At once, they notice who has not been invited to this conversation. Jon, Sansa thinks sadly, her heart sinking. Yet again, here is another example of Jon being left out, being cast aside. No wonder he feels so apart from us, she thinks, but her wondering thoughts are cut off when her father speaks. "I have something to tell you all." Ned Stark admits, wondering if perhaps he should have spoken to his wife alone on this matter. But it's too late now. "It's about Jon." Sansa looks up from where she's been staring at the tips of her shoes, just barely visible beneath the stained hem of her gray gown. Blue eyes widen- many pairs, in fact, aside from Arya's Stark gray, and the attention is now entirely focused on their father. "Jon is not my bastard," he plunges into the story without preamble, retelling the story of Jon's birth before he can lose his nerve.

When he finishes a few minutes later, the entire family is staring back at him, every face a different variation of shock.

"It's not true!" Arya breaks the silence first, anger in the form of curled fists and damp eyes.

Bran's begun to cry and beside him, Cat puts an arm around him.

"It is true," Ned reaches out to gently pat his youngest daughter's head, raising his eyes to meet his wife's gaze a moment later. "I am sorry for lying to you all these years." He's speaking to Cat now, who's eyes widen, tears filling her eyes as several different emotions rush to claim her. "But I promised her." Lyanna, the thought of his dearly loved sister, lost to him all these years now... He thinks of her, barely older than Sansa was now, bleeding in her child bed, begging him to protect her son. "There's something else." He turns now to face his oldest daughter, her pretty ivory features twisted with her dismay. "What is the name of your soul mark, Sansa?"

Surprised at her father's question, Sansa blinks, as if she's trying to understand. But when he gives her an encouraging sort of nod she speaks. "Aegon."

Ned Stark smiles, he can't help it. Strange ways in which the Gods work, he supposes. "Jon's birth name... The name which Lyanna wished to call him... Aegon."

From where she stands, Cat feels the world come to a spinning halt. The younger two, Bran and Arya, they don't quite understand what this new admission means. Both children are visibly upset by the truth of the boy they call brother, and despite her cold indifference to the boy she called bastard, she feels for them. She feels for Jon, too. Now that the truth is there in front of her, guilt is beginning to creep in, a cold feeling that wells up in her belly, threatening to spill over. She glances from her husband to instead look at Sansa, who's Tully blue eyes are wide in her face, her hand clutching tightly to the fabric of her gown.

"The truth of Jon's birth... No one must ever know that he is Rhaegar's son, but it is time the world knows he is not mine." Ned speaks, bringing them all back from their thoughts. "For Jon's soul mark has appeared as well..." He knows as well as anyone else that there was no denying the mark that appears, the name that fate gives you is yours forever. He thinks back to the day his own mark appeared, the name of the beautiful Tully redhead that had barely spared him a passing glance back then.

"And it says...?" Cat hears herself ask, though somehow, she already knows the answer.

"Sansa."

Her world stops spinning for a moment and Sansa sinks into the nearest chair, twisting her hands together in her lap. Only a moment ago, she learned that Jon was not her bastard brother at all, but her cousin. And a prince. The true heir to the Iron Throne. Now, she learns that the name her soul mark has given her was Jon's real name. All along, her soulmate has been Jon. A hand to her shoulder has her looking up and it's her mother, offering her a small smile. "Are you alright?" Cat asks, knowing the first half of the conversation was tough enough, let alone to learn that your soulmate has been raised alongside you as a sibling.

As soon as her mother asks, Sansa realizes that no matter how she feels, she can't begin to imagine how Jon does. All his life, he's wanted to belong to the Stark's, to be a trueborn son of Ned Stark. He's only wanted to feel like he was part of the pack. Surely now that must feel ripped away, lost to him, to know he's as much Targaryen as he is Stark. The dream he's always held onto... It's gone. "I am... But Jon..." She shakes her head, suddenly unable to sit there any longer. "He must be upset... Please, can I go to him?"

It is Cat who at first shakes her head, for suddenly, the dynamic between Sansa and Jon must change. But Ned cuts her off, giving his daughter a nod, knowing that she was right. Jon would need comfort in this moment and it was probably only Sansa that could provide it.

When Sansa is gone and the other two children sworn again to keeping the secret about Jon safe from everyone else, Ned and Cat are left alone. "I am sorry, sweetheart," Ned says softly, reaching out to gently touch her hand. "But you understand why I did it, don't you?" For a long moment, Cat regards him- this honorable man she calls her husband... In the end, despite the lies, how could she ever be mad at him for protecting the son of his sister? Would she not have done the same for one of her own?

And so she smiles, leaning into his touch, allowing him to wrap his arms around her.

Things must change, but she knows this is one thing that won't.

Not ever.


	134. taming the wolf, part 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would it be too much to ask for a second part to your Jon-warging-into-Ghost fic? 😆

It was rumored across all of Westeros that the young queen came to claim her kingdom and crown with a pack of wolves at her back. It was true, there was never a time that the silent, white wolf did not remain at her side, but she laughs whenever the rumors of a wolf pack are brought up. In truth, she swears her winning the crown in the North was only due to the loyalty of the remaining houses to her own. And to the free folk that joined her side that day she rode through the gates at Castle Black.

Even that day felt like a lifetime ago.

From where she sits in her solar, Sansa sighs. 

She rises up from the desk, stepping around so she can cross the room and peer out the frosted window. In front of the hearth, Ghost stirs. As if attuned with the wolf, she turns to face him and for a moment, it's as if she's staring at Jon. The pain is swift and sharp, knocking the breath from her lungs and erupting stars in her eyes. It is the worst sort of pain, the pain of loss, the pain of grief. Jon had been the only one she had left, the last of the pack, and now... Now he's gone.

Or so, he's mostly gone.

Sansa doesn't mention it, but sometimes, she knows Jon is there. Somehow, despite the knowledge that he's gone from this world, she knows he's there inside of Ghost. Sometimes when those red eyes find hers, she knows it isn't the wolf that stares back. It's him, it's Jon. In her moments of weakness, in her moments of struggle... It is the press of a wet snout into her palm, it's the warmth of his shaggy white fur. The wolf is her constant companion, snapping his jaws when a man comes too close, offering her silent, yet deadly protection from anyone who might cause her harm. And considering the world she lives in, she supposes she needs it. 

"Are you there, Jon?" She asks aloud, coming across the room to sink down to Ghost's level, blue eyes yet again finding red. Reaching out, she runs a hand down the back of his head and down his neck, the white fur soft between her fingers. 

Are you there, Jon...? The voice is soft, coming from faraway. But once again he's blinking back into the waking world, seeing through the eyes of the wolf. Jon doesn't understand it himself, this ability to return to Ghost's body, he's dead... Isn't he? Jon isn't so certain anymore. The only thing he does know is he can feel it when Sansa needs him- when she's feeling lost, when she's feeling uncertain... He feels it too. And so he is there. Despite the cold hands of death that have claimed him, he can return to her side to calm her fears, to offer her any comfort that he can. "You are, aren't you?" Her voice is softer still, the warmth of her hand as it glides across Ghost's back bringing his own spirit comfort. He wishes he could feel her skin against his, somehow, someway. His only answer is to gently nudge Ghost's nose into the hollow of her throat, to feel the steady rhythm of her pulse. Sansa sighs, deep, but contentedly, and sinks against the wolf, wrapping her arms around the great expanse of his neck. 

They remain there for what could be hours before a knock sounds on her door and she's on her feet at once, bidding welcome to the lord that's appeared. Jon watches from Ghost's eyes as the man bows, speaking words he cannot hear. Sansa smiles and the nods, thanking the man before he leaves a few moments later. This time when Sansa sinks back to the floor, it's to touch the top of Ghost's head, a tender smile curving on her lips. "A priestess..." she muses aloud before she rises up from the floor, her hand still absently stroking the soft fur of Ghost's head. She doesn't know what to make of this news, that a red woman, a priestess of sorts, had arrived at the gate only minutes before, asking to see her. "I suppose I must find out what she wants," she beckons to the wolf who follows after her as she heads for the door, intent on finding out just what the woman wants with her.

As they step into the hallway, Jon fades back out, but he too can only wonder what this priestess wants. 


	135. a new champion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ancient! Rome AU: After the Starks were branded as traitors Sansa becomes a political hostage of emperor Joffrey and is expected to marry him, however her hatred for him increases each passing day as he forces her to watch the gory executions of her people in form of gladiator fights. One day a new gladiator enters the coliseum: it's Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is me letting you all know that i know NOTHING of this time period but it was fun to write.

Another day, another summons to join Joffrey in the stadium.

Sansa sighs but does her best to smile for the man in her doorway, for she knows any sense of displeasure would be told to the emperor without hesitation. The man, seemingly satisfied with her response, bows and backs out from the room, allowing the door to slam closed behind.

When she's alone, all of the fight leaves her and she sinks into the nearest chair, head in hands. Yet another day where she's to be forced to witness the gruesome violence that is the gladiator colosseum. Every drop of blood is a reminder of her father's execution, every hour spent in the crowd only more fuel for her nightmares. "My lady... perhaps you are feeling unwell this morning?" It's Shae, her ever loyal handmaiden, prompting her with an excuse she might use to get out of the day's events. But Sansa smiles for her lady and shakes her head, instead rising up from the chair. She is braver than that, than running away from what frightens her.

She might yet be betrothed to a tyrant, chained to a family that had the rest of her's murdered in cold blood... But she was a Stark, through and through, and though she was so very far from the North, she could feel the strength that her home offered. I am a Stark, she thinks as Shae begins to undress her from her nightgown, I am strong because I am a Stark.

She was a Stark and so she would be brave.

[ x x x ]

He can hear the crowd shouting, screaming, gasping.

The horror of it all, this gladiator colosseum , even for a seasoned soldier such as himself is tough to take. He's heard of it of course, even way up North in the midst of the Night's Watch, they know some of what goes on in the South. He's heard the rumors of the mad ruler Joffrey, who prefers violence to peace, who abuses the lowest of servants and most noble of knights. There is no one who is immune to the emperor's temper- save for maybe his mother, the golden haired Lannister queen who ruled alongside his father for many of the last twenty years.

Suddenly, the crowd is roaring and Jon feels his stomach turn over. A moment later, the door that leads out into the stadium flies open and before anyone can speak, he knows what's happening. "Your turn." A gruff voice says a moment before he's shoved out the door and into the sunlight.

All around him, eyes are staring down at him; they scream and they stomp their feet, eager to see the blood bath continue on. In front of him, Jon meets gazes with his opponent, an undefeated mountain of a man, who's chest is smeared with blood that is most certainly not his own. Jon gulps. He's skilled enough of a fighter, but against this brute seems impossible. And from the state of the battefield, from the rumors of this man's strength... Jon has to wonder if this will be his end. After everything he's seen, after everything that he's done... This is where it all will come to and end.

From where she sits beside Joffrey in the emperor's box, Sansa sees the newest recruit come out into the stadium center. Her breath catches in her throat- she's seen hair like that before and it certainly wasn't there in the South. Beside Joffrey, ser Merryn leans in to speak to him. "From the North," he says, shooting a sidelong glance at the young woman seated beside the emperor. Sure enough, as Sansa had thought, this was a man from the North, from her home. But how, she wonders, watching the man as he squares up in front of Joffrey's champion, the Mountain, how has a Northern man ended up here?

"Ah, one of those black crows, eh?" Joffrey asks, green eyes flashing with danger in the sunlight. "Do you know him, sweet lady?" His eyes are upon her instead and for a moment, she freezes. "He looks like your traitor father." Joffrey goes on, gesturing towards the gladiator that now raises a sword as the battle prepares to begin. "But all your traitor brothers are dead, so I imagine it's just another piss poor criminal from Wintertown." Joffrey turns away from her then, back to facing the fight that's just begun.

[ x x x ]

One more swing, one more!

He's pushing himself, harder and further than he's ever pushed himself before. For the first time in all his life, he's thankful for his short stature, giving him ample opportunity over the beast of a man he's facing. Where the man is slow, Jon is quick. His agile movements are too much for him and Jon knows by the end of the third round that if he gets the right chance, he might actually survive.

Now it's the sixth round and Jon knows the final moment must come.

And so he puts it all into this last swing- a quick upper cut movement that catches the Mountain off guard- and for the several moments after he lands back on his feet, Jon isn't certain he's managed to pull it off. But then he glances at his sword- it's stained crimson and dripping. Behind him, he hears the man stagger and then, the crowd goes silent as he falls to his knees and then to the ground. Dead.

Then... The crowd erupts.

[ x x x ]

It's no more than a few minutes when he's approached by the man in charge of the gladiators and another man, well dressed and fair-haired. "You, boy." The gladiator barks, catching Jon's attention where he stands, mid-wiping the blood from his hands. "Come with us."

"To where?" Jon asks, dark gaze sharper than his voice. "I was told if I won I would have my freedom back." He only longs to return North, to find Ghost and live out his days in a place where no one might ever find him.

"And your freedom you shall have," the second man speaks, his green eyes bright in the sunlight that streams in through the nearby open window. "As winner in the stadium, you have the great honor of meeting our emperor." He continues, gesturing for him to take a left down the corridor and towards a door that leads up a set up stairs, which sure enough as he climbs up them Jon can hear the emperor's harsh laughter.

Stepping through the doorway, Jon is lead across the way to where the emperor sits, but it is not the man that catches Jon's interest first. Rather, it is a young woman with hair a shade of vibrant red that seems quite out of sorts among these blonde and brunette southerners. He's seen that shade of hair color before, a Tully born boy who had once joined the ranks of the Night's Watch had hair of the same shade. But beyond the color of her hair... She was beautiful. So beautiful that when she turns to face him, the breath is stolen from his lungs. Her eyes are clear and blue, but lovely as they might be, he finds their gaze to be sad, the eyes of a woman lost.

"So you've defeated my champion."

The sharp voice belongs to the emperor, who Jon has quite honestly forgotten was there. He turns to face the man instead, though he's hesitant to tear his gaze from the lovely woman at his side. "Aye, so I have." Jon replies, lifting his shoulders in a slight shrug. "It was that or die. I preferred the first option." For a second, there is only silence, until Joffrey lets out a laugh that startles those around them.

"A jester are you, crow?" Joffrey takes a step closer to where Jon stands and it's only then that Jon notices the striking resemblance between him and the man that had led him up to where he stands now. "You would make a far better champion." Now Jon knows where this is going. "I can make you a wealthy man, far wealthier than your meager coins made in the ranks of the crows." He's offering him a choice- to stay and be his new champion of the gladiator colosseum , or... "Or you may go, it is the law of the colosseum and I am a man of my word." Beside him, the young woman flinches, but it is so quick that Jon is certain he's the only one who's noticed. "But be my champion, I will give you all the wealth you could dream of."

For what feels like a lifetime, Jon stands there, silent and still. Only moments ago, his answer had been strong, had been absolute. But now that he stands there in the presence of this young woman, something is nagging at him. Something about her is calling out to him and despite it all, he wants to heed her call. He doesn't even know her name, but with that single glance, she's set fire to his heart and soul.

And so, he nods; he will be the emperor's new champion.


	136. share the bed with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine au: There was only one bed (but Jon and Sansa are just cuddling "platonically" while they are angsting over their mutual attraction to each other)

They are halfway to Deepwood Motte when illness strikes.

It's Sansa first, though she is reluctant to admit she was feeling unwell even the slightest. All she can think of is reaching House Glover and finding additional men to help them retake Winterfell. In the weeks since her escape from Ramsay and finding Jon, they've begun to muster up a small army. But it's not enough, it's not nearly enough.

And so she doesn't speak up the first morning she wakes up feeling unwell- limbs heavy, head aching, feeling more like she drank too much wine at dinner than anything else. But as the day goes on, she only begins to feel worse. When asked, she smiles and shakes her head-_ "I'm tired"_\- her default excuse, one that works. It's only Brienne that argues with her the second morning she wakes, this time with a slight cough. "I'm fine, really," she holds a steady gaze with her sworn shield who after several long moments merely sighs in frustration, but slips from the tent without arguing.

On that second morning, when they're traveling up a snowy pass, a wildling collapses.

By the time evening falls, there are two additional soldiers that have fallen ill and Jon commands them all to come to a stop. "We will set up camp here." Jon says when she approaches him, Brienne close behind. "Davos and I will continue on, you will stay here with Tormund and the others." At once, she makes a face and Jon sighs, shaking his head. "You will be safer here," he begins, but she cuts him off.

"Safer here? Among the sick?"

Jon sighs, even he can't argue with that.

So half an hour later, it's Sansa who rides alongside Jon, towards Deepwood Motte, to where they will hopefully find allies. But no more than an hour into their ride, Sansa begins to cough. Up until that moment, she's been able to keep from Jon that she too was feeling unwell and at once he's pausing their horses, turning to face her with concern on his features. "You, too?" He questions, brow arching, worry coursing through his veins. If he'd known... He'd never have brought her.

Now shame rushes through him, for as he looks closer at her, he can see it there on her face. The paleness to her cheeks, the dark rims beneath her eyes, her unsual silence... All these things he's attributed to her being unused to traveling as they are, things he's chalked up to the pain she's endured, even in these weeks since she came to him at Castle Black. He should have paid more attention to her, he should have noticed. "Come on, I saw a hunting lodge just back a way, we'll stay there for the night." Sansa opens her mouth to protest, but Jon shakes his head, meeting her blue eyes with his dark. "You need rest." She holds his gaze for what feels like an eternity before she finally gives in with a single nod.

It takes only a few minutes for them to find the lodge Jon spoke of, a little hut tucked behind the tree line. "Abandoned, most likely." Jon observes as he helps her down from her horse, his hands lingering on her hips perhaps a moment or two longer than necessary. He hates himself for the rush it gives him, to feel her body beneath his touch. "Let's get you inside," he's brought back to the present when she begins to cough and he takes her by the arm and leads her towards the door of the hut. Sure enough, inside is dark and dusty, a single room lodge with one bed against the western wall and a hearth built into the other. A table and two chairs rest at the center, a thick layer of dust on their surfaces, but glancing around Jon can see the walls are tight, sturdy, and it would serve them well even for just a night or two. "Keep your cloak on until it's warm," Jon says, turning towards the door. "I'll gather some firewood."

When he returns a few minutes later, he finds she's already pulled back the curtains to let in the weak winter sun and dusted off the top of the table and chairs at the center of the room. Truthfully, the room isn't so bad once the fire burns in the hearth, the small space full of warmth and light thanks to it's size. "Go on then, to bed with you," he grins, gesturing towards the bed that sits across the room. She had already pulled back the furs on the bed and she glances towards it before focusing her eyes on him. "What's wrong?"

"There's only one bed."

"How observant of you," he laughs and she sticks out her tongue, something he recalls Arya doing as well; the memory hurts.

"Where will you sleep?" She goes on, her concern suddenly quite evident. "You need rest, too, Jon." And considering the spread of the illness among their small group, she's fearful that he too will fall ill.

"I will make a bed of our cloaks and furs on the floor," he takes a step towards her, reaching out a hand to tenderly touch her arm. "I'll be fine, Sansa." The way he says her name sends chills down her spine- being this close with Jon, it's begun to create strange feelings within her. Strange feelings that leave her both excited and ashamed. Feelings she's not certain how to explain. After a moment, she nods and Jon's hand falls away, though the spot on her arm feels cold without his touch.

For a while, Jon remains awake before the hearth, listening to Sansa's soft breathing as she sleeps. He gets up to check on her every now and again, though he supposes it's more for his own peace of mind than anything else. Deciding he might as well get some rest himself, he rises up from his chair before the hearth and before he takes to the bundle of furs on the floor, he stands at her bedside one last time. Reaching out to brush a lock of hair from her forehead, he stops fast, realizing the skin beneath his fingertips is far hotter than it usually was. Placing his palm against her skin, he feels the heat of a fever and at once, fear surges through him.

And so rather than heading to bed, he pulls his chair to the side of her bed instead only after he lugs in a bucket of snow to melt, so he can sponge her sweating skin as she sleeps, restless now that the fever has taken hold of her body. Right there he stays, well into the middle of the night, carefully watching over her as she tosses and turns, moaning softly in her sleep. He had promised to take care of her and that was a vow he was never going to break.

[ x x x ]

When she wakes, it feels as if she cannot move.

Her limbs ache, her head is heavy, her chest is tight. It takes her only a moment to realize that she's riddled with fever, the hazy feeling it gives her familiar from childhood. She coughs as she forces her body to move, propping herself up onto an elbow as her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. That's when she realizes the heaviness in her legs is from more than just sickness; Jon sleeps, draped over her legs, a bowl of water at his feet, the cloth still gripped in his hand as he snores. Despite it all, she smiles.

Perhaps aware of her gaze or perhaps just coincidence, Jon wakes.

"Sansa!" He rasps, surging towards the head of the bed so he can gently push her back onto the pillows. "Here," he puts the jug of ale to her lips, offering her a sip or two to quench her aching throat. "How do you feel?" He asks, settling back into his chair, only after taking a swig of the ale for himself- he supposes if he's to get sick, he's already caught the germs, so drinking after her is the least of his concerns now.

"Tired," she replies, her voice hoarse. "You..?" Sick as she is, she still worries over him; he hates to admit it, but her concern for him delights him. "You will be sick, too," she casts her gaze away, as if shamed by this realization, and at once Jon is shaking his head. He reaches for her hand that sits atop the furs and gives it a gentle squeeze, the gesture forcing her to face him again.

"Don't worry about me," he says softly, giving her an encouraging sort of smile. "I only care about what happens to you." Her cheeks flush with color and it's not just from the fever, but she looks down and then back up, blinking fast as she slides her other hand on top of his. "You should get some more rest." He doesn't want the moment to end, but he knows sleep is her only remedy for this sickness. But before she's settled back into bed, she glances at him as if she means to say something, but stops herself. "What is it?" He asks, knowing her far too well to ignore the meaningful look to her gaze.

"I just..." She pauses, looking somewhat uncomfortable, before she plunges on. "I'm cold."

At once, Jon jumps to his feet, to feed kindling into the fire, but her hand on his keeps him at her bedside. "I'm cold and you... Need to sleep. Not at the foot of the bed or on the floor." Sansa goes on, heat rushing to her cheeks. She knows it's shameful, what she's suggesting, but considering there is only one bed... They are out of options, really. Jon stares at her for what feels like a lifetime and she's worried she's made a mistake with her suggestion, but then his face softens and to her surprise (and delight) he nods.

His heart is racing as he slides beneath the furs, taking up the space beside her. She looks as equally nervous as he feels and Jon offers her a smile, reminding himself for the hundredth time that day that he can't have these feelings for her. These feelings... They could be for any other woman. He wishes they were for any other woman in the world. But the harder he fights against them, the stronger they become. So maybe, he supposes, he just shouldn't fight them at all.

It takes only a few minutes for Sansa to settle in against him, so close that Jon can catch the scent of rosewater on her hair. He lays awake for what could be hours or minutes, before he feels her shifting in the bed, turning over so she faces him rather than away from him. Hyper aware of the way she feels pressed against him, Jon swallows, careful to avoid waking her as he reaches out an arm. She falls into place in the crook of his arm as if she was born to fit there, her head resting against his shoulder as a hand slides into place against his chest. Jon can't believe just how right this feels, laying in bed with her beside him. He knows it's wrong, he knows what the world would think of him if anyone ever knew... But Jon knows he can't deny the feelings for her, wrong as they might be. The love he feels for her is far beyond what a brother feels for his sister. Perhaps he's sick for it, perhaps he will be damned by the gods for it, but it's there all the same. He loves her, he loves her more than anything else in this life of his.

And so he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, before he closes his eyes and finally succumbs to sleep.


	137. captain of the queensguard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Here's a new prompt: Catelyn makes Jon Sansa's sworn shield/ future Queensguard to ensure he doesn't father any children that might threaten her grandchildren's claim. Thx

The day her betrothal to Joffrey Baratheon is official, her life at once begins to change.

Sansa supposes it's childish to be frightened of a future she's always known would eventually come to pass, but now that it's here... She sighs, glancing around at the rooms she stands within, the only bedroom she's known all her life. Soon, in mere days really, she will be sent to King's Landing to begin her new life as the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

A knock on the door.

She turns, the door opening before she can say a word. Her mother steps over the threshold, smiling fondly upon her oldest daughter, knowing in a short time she will not have a chance at this. "It is decided," Cat says as her daughter sweeps her a curtsy, though Sansa is surprised to realize that shortly, even her own mother and father would bow to her instead. She doesn't like that much, but she supposes she must learn to accept the many changes that are coming her way. "The king has sent word, they are expecting you at the end of the month."

A fortnight of time was between her and her new life. Yes, lady mother, is how she wishes she could respond, but she's suddenly welling up with apprehension, hands twisting in the folds of her gray and blue gown. As if sensing her discomfort, Cat reaches out, gently patting her daughter's cheek. "Are you not eager to become a queen, sweet girl?" Cat asks, offering her a daughter an encouraging sort of smile. "You will be the most beautiful queen that Westeros has ever seen," it was true, Cat could not deny how truly lovely her oldest daughter had become as she grew into a young woman. "Or is it... Are you afraid of leaving home?" This must be it for Sansa bows her head, lower lip caught between her teeth. Cat can only have a soft laugh at her daughter's expense before she takes her by the hand and leads her towards her bed. "I too was afraid, once, when I learned it was your father I was to marry." Sansa has heard this story before, countless times, of how her mother was intended not for her father, but for his brother instead. "Love was not easy, we had to build it from the ground up." She touches her daughter's hand, smiling for her. "At first I was loathe to leave my home and my family, I was frightened, but your father... He made every attempt to ensure my happiness. Soon, the North became my home." Cat peers into Sansa's blue eyes and she tightens her grip upon her hand. "Someday, King's Landing will feel like home to you, too."

It takes a moment, but finally, Sansa smiles.

"Besides, you will not be alone," Cat says as she rises up from where she sits, taking the first of several steps back towards the door. "Jon will be going with you." She hears Sansa's sharp intake of breath and so she turns back with a chuckle. "He is to be the captain of your Queensguard, your father and I have decided it is best for you." Before Cat can say another word, her daughter is embracing her and she can't help but to hold onto Sansa for far longer than necessary. "So fear not, sweet child, fear not."

When her mother has gone, Sansa sinks back onto her bed, relief rushing through her entire being. Jon... He's always been there, like another of their pack, raised alongside Robb who was but two weeks older than him. Jon's mother had been the Stark children's aunt, Lyanna, the younger sister of their father, Ned. And so he was raised among the growing family that was Ned and Cat's children.

It was Jon that was often a voice of reason among the hot-headed Stark siblings, though his temper could rival any of theirs at times, and it was his steady gaze that often calmed her throughout the years. His calm, quiet presence was often times all that she needed to find peace. Knowing it was Jon going with her to King's Landing, that it was Jon that would be at her side from then on... It gave her a sense of comfort she couldn't quite explain, even in her own mind.

[ x x x ]

On the morning she's to leave, she's standing on the battlements, taking one last look at the home she's always known.

Down below, her father is overseeing the wagons being loaded with the last of her belongings- countless trunks filled full of gowns and bedding and every other thing she could possibly need to take with her onto her new life. She's bid goodbye to her siblings and though the younger ones remained in their chambers, too upset to wave her off, Robb stands in the courtyard with their father, waiting to bid her goodbye.

"Sansa?"

She turns, smiling when she finds Jon standing there. "It's time?" She asks, though she already knows the answer. Jon nods and he watches her as she turns back, hands hesitant to let go of the railing she stands before. "It is hard to believe I'm leaving home," she says with a soft sigh, but she takes a step back and turns back to face him. "But if I am to go, I'm glad it's with you." At her words, Jon's lips curve with a grin, brightening his usually stoic Stark features. Rather than speaking, he offers her his elbow, which she takes, allowing him to steer her towards the stone steps that will take them down into the courtyard.

Pausing before they approach where her parents now stand, the last of the trunks loaded; all that was left was her. "Hey..." She trails off, her hand slipping from its place on his arm. Jon turns back to face her and just the sight of him looking back at her is enough to give her the encouragement she needs to speak on. "In King's Landing... When we're alone... Will you still call me Sansa?" She knows that when they're in court, he will have to address her as everyone else will, but in moments of privacy... She only wants this one thing to never have to change.

Jon smiles and nods. "I'll call you whatever you want," he says before he reaches for her hand, placing it back on his elbow. And then he leads her to where she will bid her parents goodbye and climb into the last of the wagons, to be driven away from her home and onto a new future. Every ounce of fear escapes her when she feels Jon's gentle touch to her hand, drawing her along, like a true and loyal courtier. Sansa knows, without a doubt, she will always have someone to count on.

It was as her mother had told her, she would never be alone.

And so she climbs into the wagon and smiles, waving her goodbyes from the window until her parents have faded from her view, until even the tallest of Winterfell's peaks disappear behind the trees.

Her new life is only just beginning.


	138. down by the lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would you write a moments!ficcie which may be part Hinny & part Jonsa ?

Jon wonders why he hasn't seen it before; perhaps it was as Ygritte always said, he was hopelessly unaware of the world around him. _You know nothing, Jon,_ she would sigh and Robb would laugh, though he was far from a lashing of his own from their female friend. Jon wishes he'd listened to Ygritte more often, especially in moments such as the one he finds himself in now.

He's sitting in the Great Hall, unable to keep himself from watching her.

Sansa sits just a few spots down from him, talking in earnest with the brunette Ravenclaw, Margaery. It's Saturday morning, the morning of a Hogsmeade village trip, and Jon finds himself left behind thanks to his latest conversation with Professor Olenna. He supposes it's not long before he's banned entirely from the visits, but he's surprised to see Sansa doesn't join Margaery when she leaves the table. Instead, she returns to the breakfast that sat on her plate, only after she pours herself a second goblet of pumpkin juice.

The hall grows quiet beyond the idle chatter of the first and second years at the four House tables, very few older students remaining behind from the visit. In truth, now that he glances around, Jon can see it's just two Ravenclaws in his year that remain behind with him and Sansa. He turns his gaze back to her then, enjoying the shimmer of her red hair as she shifts in the sunlight that pours in from overhead. In the last several weeks, his thoughts about Sansa have changed immensely- the youngest sibling of the Stark clan and the only daughter- as they began to grow closer both on and off the Quidditch field. He's always enjoyed her company- he's known Sansa as long as he's known Robb, in fact, he's spent every summer for the last five years at their home with their family. Sansa was Robb's younger sister, barely a year between the two of them, and Jon knows they're close, even if they do argue.

"Hey Jon!"

Suddenly, a voice is breaking into his thoughts and he realizes that the young woman he's been lost in thought about is suddenly sliding into place at his side. "Hey, Sansa," he grins, hoping he sounds a whole lot less awkward than he feels, so suddenly plunged into conversation with her. For some reason, every time he finds himself in her presence it's as if his mouth forgets how to form words, or rather, his brain forgets how to function entirely. Just last practice, he'd nearly nose dived off his broom just so he could watch her better as she flew overhead, the Quaffle tucked securely under her arm. "Aren't you going to Hogsmeade?" He hears himself ask, which at first sounds like the lamest possible thing he could say, but to his surprise she's grinning, though shaking her head.

"Olenna." She makes a face, a perfect imitation of the face their old professor makes when angry. "Apparently she doesn't like it when we think for ourselves," she rolls her blue eyes, but sighs, swinging her feet around so she can get to her feet. "Anyways, I'm not allowed to Hogsmeade for at least three visits." She shoulders her bag, brushing a stray lock of red hair from her face. "I heard you got four."

It's his turn to grin, nodding.

"I'm about to go down to the lake, want to come?" For a moment, Jon pauses, but then grins before he gets to his feet. If these were to be his next few Saturday mornings, he wouldn't complain.

[ x x x ]

On the Saturday morning Sansa is allowed to return to Hogsmeade with the others, Jon finds himself feeling lousy. Truth was, in the last few weeks, they've spent more and more time together and he's learned to feel more at ease in her presence. Their Saturday mornings were spent together down by the lake or perhaps in the library, but their time together went beyond that. Practices down in the field, pulled aside conversations in the hallway, little moments that left them both wanting so much more in the end. Now with her ability to return to the normal visits to Hogsmeade and him with another three visits tacked on, he wonders if their relationship will begin to fade back to what it once was.

But as she appears in the hall that morning, she's all smiles for him as she slides into her almost usual place at his side. "Hey," she breathes as she reaches for the plate of bacon at the center of the table. "You look surprised to see me," she teases, wrinkling her freckled nose in the most endearing of ways.

"But the Hogsmeade trip..." He begins and she shakes her head, pouring herself a goblet of juice. "You're able to go again, aren't you?"

Sansa is smiling as she turns on the bench to face him, suddenly a little shy as she tucks strand of hair behind an ear. "I'd rather spend the day with you," she admits, cheeks two blooms of color as she turns back to her plate of breakfast. "If you want to, that is." Her fears of Jon growing tired of her might becoming true, she realizes, and Sansa isn't certain she's ready to hear him say those words.

"I want to."

Sansa looks back up, blue eyes widening slightly as they fall onto Jon's face. "You do?" She asks, unable to hide her surprise- though relief is rushing through her as the realization dawns; he wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him. "We could go down to the lake," she offers, their usual spot, a place that they visit sometimes even in the evenings after dinner. A place some might even dare to call theirs.

And sure enough, a short while later, the lake is where they were. 


	139. A new family.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt idea: ten years after s8 Jon receives a pardon from Bran and Sansa and returns to WF. Sansa is a widow with twins who don't remember their father. Jon starts passing time with them playing, teaching them the things that Ned once teached him too. And Sansa watches as this unknow uncle becomes a father to her children.

It's ten years to the day that she left King's Landing that Jon was once announced at her gates.

Now, it has been several months since that day. She stands on the battlements, watching that same man as he plays with her children in the yard below, their laughter carrying along the wind. Despite how often she had once wished, Jon did not father those children down in the yard, though some might think differently. No, in truth, she had married two years after her crowning as Queen in the North- she had to. She had a kingdom to look after, a kingdom that had to have an heir. And she couldn't wait forever.

And so she'd married Harry Hardyng, as she once thought she might when she lived as Alayne Stone. Though Harry had been kind to her, a handsome man just a few years older than she was, she had never loved him. Not really. But she did her duty by him and the North and four years after their wedding, she found herself with child. The day of her labor pains, she had dreamed of Jon and two young children and woke thinking that perhaps someday, a child of their making would join the one she carried.

It turned out she was carrying twins.

Robb had come first, shrieking with a temper that would someday remind nearly everyone he meets of his namesake, the uncle he never got a chance to meet. He's dark haired, every inch a Stark from the curls on his head to the long, oval shape to his face. He is like Jon, like her father Ned. He is a Stark, through and through. Anya came second, of course, born with a shock of Tully red hair and eyes like those of her father's; she's quieter, but she will learn to hold court with any lord or royal as well as her mother could. Her children were her life, from that day forward. They were the things that began to heal her heart from the pain of letting Jon go.

Back then, just when she thought she might learn to love the man she married, he died. Suddenly, violently, of an illness that had raged through most of Wintertown and Winterfell. It had left hundreds dead in it's wake, sparing no one, regardless of age nor rank.

Just like that, she had been alone again.

This time she had her children though and Sansa threw herself into raising them; teaching them everything she'd once been taught and even more. But there were some things she could not teach them- the way a Stark man swings his sword or the calm manner in which you speak to even your worst of enemies. There were things her son needed to learn from his father, just as there were things her daughter must learn from her. Even now, so many years later, her heart aches for the loss of her father, her mother... Of every person lost to her over the decades of her life.

"Lady Mother!"

She's drawn from her thoughts then, turning her gaze downward to where her son has noticed her; he waves at her wildly, his sister now joining him, his shout alerting Anya to their mother's presence up above them. Smiling, Sansa raises her hand in greeting and Jon stares up at her, just several steps behind where the kids stand, his unruly curls fastened into a bun at the back of his head; it's a reminder of days left behind, of feelings she thought she had long since forgotten.

Taking her leave of the battlements, she heads down the steps and into the courtyard, laughing as both children rush into her arms as she sinks down to meet them. "Go on, it's almost supper time. Go up and wash." She kisses the tops of both their heads and though Robb drags his feet, he follows after Anya who has already sped off, ever eager to please, quite the little lady. Jon wonders if she even realizes just how alike she and her daughter are. As he steps up to stand beside her, their shoulders brush, sending waves of warmth through his entire body. And from the way her cheeks turn red, she feels it, too. "They love you, you know." She finally speaks, that honey like voice the same as it always had been. "I'm thankful for that."

Jon turns his gaze from her to instead watch the children as they climb the stone steps up to Winterfell's double doors, where Shae already waits for them, to take them off to wash and change for that night's meal. "I love them," he admits, softly, but without shame. Beside him, Sansa shifts, emotion making her eyes shine. Somehow, she's become only more lovely in their years apart, her scarlet longs longer than ever, her body changed from motherhood but in the most delicious of ways. "As if they were my own."

Blinking against the tears in her eyes, Sansa lets out the breath she's been holding, her lips curving with a smile. Now that he thinks about it, this is the first time she's looked at him in such a way since his return to Winterfell some months before. Since that first day, she had treated him with icy courtesy, not ever like what it had once been. Not that he can blame her, he had not anticipated her welcoming him back at all. Yet... Here they were. Her smiling upon him, the love of her children the single thing they had in common now. But it was something. It was everything. "Dine with me tonight, won't you?" Her question draws him from the depths of his mind and he blinks, staring at her as if he's not quite heard her correctly. "When the children have gone to bed." She clarifies and Jon swallows against the sudden lump that's formed in his throat. But he nods. Of course he nods. Her smile returns and she turns, sweeping away from him in her blue gown, following after the path her children had only just taken.

But a moment before the door closes behind her, she turns back to spare him one last glance, and his heart skips a beat at the sight of her smile.

Something... No... Everything was about to change.

And so with a grin tugging on his lips, he follows after her; he'll chase after her for the rest of his life, if she'd allow it.


	140. i miss you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: jon, i miss you.

_Jon... I miss you._

She stops, lowering her quill, staring down at the words she's written upon the parchment. Lower lip caught between her teeth, she crumples the parchment up and tosses it into the fire, knowing she could not write these words to him, no matter how true they might have been. 

It's been a long three weeks since Jon left for Dragonstone, leaving her alone in Winterfell. He promised her to return quickly, but she's disappointed when his first letter arrived only that morning telling her that things were not progressing as well with the dragon queen as he had hoped they might. _Give my love to Bran,_ he had written, for she had written him at once when Bran had showed up at the gate only a week after his departure._ Tell him I miss him. Tell him I look forward to being a family again._ Though she would never admit it aloud, she was more disappointed in the fact that he did not write that he missed her, but that he certainly would return to her side when he could. She supposes that should be enough for a sister to feel, but for some reason, it isn't.

Being without Jon is far more painful than she ever expected it to be. 

Sighing, she shifts in her chair at the sound of scratching on her door. Before she can rise up, there comes a knock and it's Brienne there, with Ghost darting into the room around her. The wolf bounds to her side and promptly sits beside her, looking up expectantly, clearly waiting for her soft touch to his head, which of course she gives quite willingly. "You missed supper," Brienne says as she approaches where her lady sits, blue eyes lifting from the wolf to face her instead. "I've sent a lady to bring you something." Sansa smiles her thanks and then returns to the wolf, not an ounce of fear for the beast, though even the bravest of men cower when he snaps his jaws. 

"Thank you," Sansa finally says, offering her lady knight a smile. "I would be lost without you." It was true, if it were not for Brienne, Sansa wasn't certain she would have ever made it to Jon's side all those months ago. 

Brienne's typically stoic features crack with a smile- of all people, she loves this girl, and she would die for her. She would protect her with her life. "I will return later to check on you." Brienne says, bowing to her lady, who again smiles for her and nods. "Send for me if you need me, I shall be in the yard with the soldiers." Already, they had begun to train eligible men to fight in the upcoming war with the Night King. While Jon was away, Sansa swore she would prepare all of Winterfell, and the North, to fight the battle when the time came. 

When she's alone, Sansa sinks to floor, wrapping her arms around Ghost's thick, shaggy neck. "I miss you, Jon," she whispers into the wolf's fur, as if the wolf could understand, as if somehow wherever he was, Jon could hear her soft whisper. 

And then she rises up, knowing she could not wallow in her self doubt nor sorrow. She would not disappoint Jon, who had left Winterfell and the North in her hands. When he did return to her, it would be to a flourishing kingdom, one waiting for it's king. 

[ x x x ]

In Dragonstone, Jon closes his eyes. 

Ghost is making his way down a brightly lit corridor, one Jon recognizes as the one where Sansa's rooms reside. Behind him, footsteps follow, and he catches the scent that is Sansa's lady knight, Brienne. At the door, he raises his paw, but it is Brienne that knocks and opens the door, allowing Ghost to dart inside. 

At once, he's before her, looking up at her through Ghost's red eyes. She looks tired and more than anything, she looks sad. Jon's heart, or perhaps it's Ghost's, skips a beat as her hand touches down between his ears. Her touch is warm, soft, a reminder of what it felt like when she had touched his hand. Brienne and her talk, reminding Jon yet again that he should be more thankful for the lady knight, the only other person he knows he can trust to keep Sansa safe. When Brienne is gone, Sansa is sinking down, wrapping her arms around the wolf, burying her face into his strong, but warm neck. I miss you, Jon, she's whispering into his fur and yet again, Jon's heart skips a beat. 

When she's rising up, answering the door for the maid that's brought her supper, Jon frees himself from Ghost. There in his rooms, he swears a silent oath; he would find his way back to her, back home, if it was the last thing he did. 


End file.
